Missing TnT Scenes Season Four
by Alelou
Summary: Because we can never have enough TnT scenes ... and because some things just need fixing, even if we're staying canon-friendly. The series is now complete.
1. Storm Front I

**SPOILERS:** "Storm Front Part 1" and "Zero Hour" and it may make little sense without them.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Storm Front Part I" was written by Manny Coto.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **A nasty stomach flu kept me from the grandkids for another weekend, but I consoled myself with fanfic, so here we go. I know "Storm Front" makes many fans queasy, but I enjoy it. That shot of _Enterprise_ flying in over Brooklyn is one of my all-time favorites. (I may have an unreasoning fondness for WWII stories, even campy ones with alien Nazis in them.) So, here begins Season Four. Hopefully this time Trip will have a slightly less angst-ridden time of it than he did in the Commander Tucker series, but I make no promises.

As always, your reviews (and edits) are deeply appreciated, especially since the stats at this site seem to be disappearing into intermittent wormholes. (And if you logged in, you will get a personal thank you.)

* * *

Although she was not certain it truly matteredwhether they contaminated this already fractured timeline, T'Pol was nonetheless relieved that Ensign Sato did not detect any panicked radio transmissions about a strange craft suddenly appearing in the midst of a highly populated area, as had seemed quite probable given their shuttle craft's trajectory. Reed narrowed the plasma traces to a wooded area of New Jersey known as the Palisades, although he also said he couldn't rule out a landing in the Hudson River.

"I don't detect any life signs in that _immediate_ area," he said. "But there is a massing of life signs here, at what appears to be a boat launch." He pointed down at the situation room screen. "It may be a military or insurgent operation of some kind."

"There's hardly even a light to be seen down there," Tucker complained.

"It's a park system, largely unsettled, but it wouldn't take long to get to Manhattan via this bridge. You'd just need to avoid walking over these cliffs in the dark. There are footpaths and even a few roads."

"Still looks like more than an hour's hike into Manhattan," Trip said.

Trip clearly assumed he was going on this away mission, but he had also insisted there was no need for him to go to sickbay for a check-up earlier. She said to Reed, "I want you and Ensign Mayweather to beam down and attempt to retrieve the pod, or, failing that, to destroy it. Then scan for any Suliban bio-signs."

"Um, excuse me?" Trip said, "I'm the best person to get that thing flying again, assuming it's possible."

"Dr. Phlox hasn't cleared you for duty."

Trip gave her withering look. "Do I look sick to you?"

"You were discovered _unconscious, _Commander."

Reed smirked at Trip, who glared back at him. "Fine," he said. "After Phlox confirms that _yes,_ I'm _fine,_ I'll meet up with Travis at the transporter."

"Agreed," she said. "I will accompany you to sickbay."

Reed coughed, possibly to cover what appeared to be significant difficulty in containing his amusement, which just made Trip glare at him even more. T'Pol said, "Lieutenant, please arrange for any explosive charges that might be required. If Commander Tucker _is_ cleared for the mission, you will stay aboard. We don't have an ample supply of senior officers at the moment."

Reed sobered. "I'll get right on it."

She looked expectantly at Trip. He frowned at her and headed for the turbo-lift.

"You know quite well that any period of unconsciousness requires medical investigation," she said, once they were in the lift together.

"You're being a mother hen," he said. "I'm fine."

"I am not merely concerned for _your_ welfare, Commander," she said. "In our current situation, your engineering and leadership skills may prove important to our continued survival."

He stuck a tongue in his cheek. "So your concern is purely professional."

"Of course," she said, giving him her blandest stare.

It was perhaps fortunate, given the way he was now smirking confidently at her, that the turbo-lift quickly delivered them to their destination.

When they arrived at sickbay, he told Phlox, "T'Pol says I need medical clearance before I can go down to the planet." He raised his hands. "But I'm fine, as you can clearly see."

"He was knocked unconscious by Silik's energy weapon," T'Pol said.

"Ah. A quick scan in the imaging chamber would be in order, then," Phlox said lightly, and gestured at the equipment as it slid out. "Commander?"

Trip scowled at her once more, and lay down.

As soon as he slid into the imaging chamber, T'Pol went over to where Porthos lay on his mat. A full bowl of food sat untouched in his bowl. "He still hasn't eaten?" she asked.

"No," Phlox said, a touch mournfully, his eyes on the monitor. "Do you know, I believe Mr. Tucker has suffered more concussive brain damage than any crewman on board."

T'Pol rose from where she had begun petting the dog – it was curious how soothing that could be, despite the unpleasant odor – and joined Phlox. "Is there a problem?"

"Happily, no," Phlox said, and pressed the button to discharge Tucker from the chamber. He smiled. "In fact, there are parts of the commander's brain lit up that I seldom see highly active in Humans. You see this area, and this? Apparently his brain has rewired itself around some of its scar tissue. That, and he appears to be…" Phlox suddenly coughed. "Well, suffice it to say you're perfectly fit for an away mission, Commander."

"Told ya," Trip said, jumping up.

Phlox said, "Of course, you should take care to avoid further brain trauma. You do realize that damage in that organ is cumulative?"

"Yes, doc, but I'm not drooling yet," Trip said. He looked at T'Pol. "Are you satisfied?"

"Yes," she said. "Stop by the quartermaster for appropriate clothing."

He grinned. "It'll be like walking into a classic movie."

"Movies are not real, Commander. I remind you that you will be beaming into the midst of a brutal world war that could conceivably turn nuclear at any moment."

"All right, I'll be careful," he said, and then he quite distinctly winked at her.

She watched him leave sickbay with some trepidation. They had already lost Captain Archer. The loss of another senior officer right now could be catastrophic. Especially this one, especially for her. She was also little confused. What exactly did his wink signify, in this context?

"And how are _you_, T'Pol?" Phlox asked.

She blinked. "Doctor?"

"Any cravings I should know about?"

"No." Not any he should know about. Her eyes returned to the doors of sick bay, watching through them as Trip's diminished form turned and then was gone from sight.

Phlox lifted a hand scanner and started examining her without asking permission. She recognized this as a continuing consequence of her addiction and did not protest. "Any troublesome emotions?" he asked.

She looked at him. "Do I appear to be having difficulties?"

Phlox said, "No, not at all. I just thought I'd ask."

"I'm fine, doctor," she said.

Phlox smiled gently at her. "Yes, I believe you are."


	2. Storm Front II

**SPOILERS:** "Storm Front I" and the Xindi arc of Season 3, and you probably won't be able to follow this without them.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Storm Front II" was written by Manny Coto.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** For those who were puzzling about what Phlox saw in that brain scan, I have to say that I don't believe Phlox is an expert in Vulcan mating bonds. Judging from what we see in canon from T'Pol, a scientist, not even _Vulcans_ of this era are knowledgeable about them. However, even today our own human researchers can detect feelings of romantic attachment in a brain scan. So maybe Trip's brain is being re-wired by Vulcan bond mojo, or his surgery, or maybe he's just currently feeling ga-ga for someone, or any combination thereof. You may draw your own conclusions.  
As always, thank you, reviewers!

* * *

T'Pol's warning about this not being a movie was drumming in Trip's ears as he and Travis were hustled down a dingy corridor away from the freaky alien in the Nazi storm trooper outfit.

"Don't try to be a hero, Travis," he said, and was immediately shoved hard into the wall.

"Silence!" the guard screamed.

He was pushed into a room and he could only assume, from the rain of blows that followed, that this was a period of beating meant to soften him up. They didn't even bother asking him anything, just whaled away in grim, workmanlike silence.

Oddly enough, the breathing exercises T'Pol had taught him for neuro-pressure helped. He breathed, and he imagined himself in her candle-lit quarters, and it was almost as if the whole thing were happening to someone else. _Thanks, T'Pol._

Unfortunately, then one of the aliens showed up, and he had questions he wanted answers to, as well as more sophisticated ways to inflict pain. This time there was no escaping it, especially since Trip didn't know any of the answers. Eventually, he just started making stuff up. Mr. Velek was a temporal agent disguised as a high school biology teacher. They'd been sent back in time by the Vulcan High Command, which didn't believe in the existence of time travel but did believe in the existence of paradoxes. It was something to do with the chicken or the egg. Either that or it had something to do with the captain's dog peeing on a sacred tree. Vosk? Wasn't that some kind of Klingon domestic animal? The colleague they couldn't find was probably that rat-bastard Suliban who'd stolen their shuttle pod. Don't try to choke him into submission because it won't work. How had they gotten here? How the hell was he supposed to know? Maybe it was Daniels, the ship's steward. He wore the most uncomfortable looking clothes Trip had ever seen. There was so much rubber in his outfit he might just bounce if you dropped him off a building. Some things about the future just didn't seem terribly appealing. He was an old fashioned guy, himself. He liked nice soft fabrics, like cotton, or Triaxian silk. Soft fabrics and smart women and beautiful warp drives. Was that so hard to understand?

x x x

As soon as he got back to the bridge, a weird blue field passed through him. It had a squirmy buzz to it, as if a gazillion busy ants had just brushed by.

But then there was T'Pol, staring at him with obvious relief, and Jon, smiling. Travis was safe at the helm. And there was Earth, _their_ Earth.

Hoshi confirmed it: they were home. Prettiest sight he'd ever seen.

It looked like practically every damned vessel in the sector was coming out to greet them, too. And as the screen filled with ships, Trip began to have his first doubts.

His parents were unlikely to be on any of those ships. Just how many hands was he going to have to shake before he got to one connected to someone he really wanted to see?

Without him quite noticing how she'd gotten there, T'Pol was suddenly at his side. "Captain, Mr. Tucker needs to be checked by the doctor."

He stared at her with a confused sense of déjà-vu. _That _again?

Archer gave her another smile. "Escort him down, would you?"

This time Trip didn't bother to argue. When they got in the turbo-lift, he hoped she would kiss him or hug him, but she didn't. "I guess I did spend some more time unconscious," he muttered, and leaned back against the rear panel. There was a vibration that shouldn't be there. It needed maintenance.

The whole ship needed maintenance. Or rebuilding. Parts needed to be torn out and replaced from the outside in and the inside out. It would cost a fortune. Hell, he could see where some bean counters with their eyes on nice fat procurement contracts might decide it would be easier to just start over.

What if they decided they didn't need _Enterprise_ anymore? What if they decided they didn't need to keep this crew together anymore?

"What the hell happens now?" he asked T'Pol.

"Sickbay and sleep," she said calmly. "The rest can wait."

x x x

Trip lay down and let the imaging chamber haul him in. _Hello, imaging chamber. Nice to see you again_.

When he came out, Phlox said, "Do you feel nauseated, dizzy, lightheaded, or short of breath?"

"No."

"Any fears, anxieties, sense of impending doom?"

Trip eyed him warily and decided his current vague anxieties didn't bear repeating. "No."

"Do you know what day it is?"

Trip scowled. "Is that a joke?"

Phlox chuckled. "A few minutes ago, my chronometer said it was February 17, 2154. Just after 0630 Pacific Time, in case you were wondering."

"Does that explain why I feel like I've been up for about forty-eight hours?"

The doctor said, "Being up forty-eight hours is probably what explains the feeling of being up for forty-eight hours. But the whole crew is going to require some adjustments to their circadian rhythms." He closed the cut on Trip's cheek, and applied two hypo-sprays to his neck. "I want you off your feet for at least the next eight hours, Commander. T'Pol, could you escort the commander to his quarters? I just gave him a rather powerful sedative, so please don't tarry."

"Doctor," she said in acknowledgment, and put a hand on Trip's shoulder, steering him towards the doors.

Once in his quarters, she didn't hesitate, just started pulling off his filthy clothing. He swayed in place and wished he wasn't so tired so he could enjoy this a little more.

"Do you require anything?" T'Pol asked him, and he thought, _I should clean my teeth_, but he couldn't quite put the thought into words or action. At least he'd already nipped into a bathroom: there was more than one reason he'd been damned thankful for that transport up with the captain.

She pulled down his blanket and guided him to his bed, gently pushing him to lie down. His eyes were already too heavy to keep open. "Kiss?" he said.

She obliged, and even smoothed his hair. "I regret that I cannot stay," she said. "The captain will be unable to make a full report of recent events to Starfleet."

"S'okay," he mumbled, and slept.

x x x

Sometime later, he rolled over and encountered a warm body. "T'Pol?" he mumbled.

"Mmm?" She sounded as if she had been sleeping too.

"Everythin' all right?"

"Yes. Go back to sleep."

So he did.

x x x

The next time he awoke T'Pol was meditating on the floor of his quarters. She'd even brought one of her Vulcan candles. It was a dusky aroma he welcomed, if only because he associated it with her.

He lay there and watched her for awhile. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful, so young. So this was 65 in a Vulcan. Amazing.

He checked the chronometer. It was after 1800 hours. He'd slept for over 12 hours. Out the window he recognized the pylons of space dock. A tiny craft zoomed by. He hoped nobody was peeking into crew quarters. Not that total privacy was ever an expectation of life on a starship.

He looked back at the woman sitting on his floor. What would happen if Starfleet found out about them?

At the thought of Starfleet he realized how desperately he needed a shower and a shave. He got up as quietly as he could, but her eyes opened the minute his feet hit the deck.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Fine," he said, stretching. "Rested. When did we dock?"

"Six hours ago. The captain ordered that the whole crew receive eighteen hours off-duty before debriefings begin."

He yawned. "Debriefings? Guess I won't reserve any beach time yet," he said. "I need a shower. Care to join me?"

An eyebrow went up.

He smiled and walked into the bathroom, and was not very surprised a few minutes later when she walked in. She liked to wait until the water was hot.

x x x

The corridors contained only the occasional rumpled crewman in civvies. In the mess hall the beverage dispenser was blinking that it was empty. Some snack items and a full bin of ration packs sat on the buffet table. Clearly, Chef had taken his time off, too. "We could get something on the dock," Trip said doubtfully.

"I will restock the beverage dispenser," T'Pol said, so Trip followed her into the galley as she set to work.

He went in the back and opened the galley's primary stasis unit and gazed in. "Cupboard's looking a little bare. I guess it's a good thing we're back." It might be evening in San Francisco, but his stomach insisted it was time for breakfast. He pulled out a few leftover biscuits, some butter and jam, and some fruit salad and arranged them on a platter with some cutlery.

T'Pol measured coffee into the top of a large filter with her usual excessive precision, following guidelines on Chef's computer, and filled some of the various urns that fed into the beverage dispenser. Trip sat at the end of the galley table and watched her, bemused to be sharing what amounted to a quiet domestic moment on a ship of 85.

Make that 58. Twenty-seven weren't here anymore. He let his mind skitter over the number instead of attaching any faces to it. He didn't want to think about that right now.

Once the beverage dispenser was restocked, he got a cup of coffee and T'Pol a cup of chamomile tea, and they took their breakfast to the captain's mess, sitting in their usual spots. Trip looked at the captain's usual chair and comforted himself that Jon would sit in it again someday.

Or would he? What if it was all coming to an end?

"Did you make any decision about formalizing your service with Starfleet?" he asked.

"Starfleet has yet to make an offer. My acceptance will depend on my interest in their posting."

"Do you think they'll split us up?"

"Us?"

"The crew," he clarified. They hadn't really discussed their own relationship at all yet. Trip felt they ought to, but he also hated to do anything that might screw it up when she kept surprising him by just being there as if it was the perfectly normal thing to do.

"Captain Archer made it quite clear to the admiral that he'll resist any attempt at a significant shake-up in the command structure. I would assume the captain possesses some political capital at the moment."

"That would be nice." Trip sighed gloomily.

She raised an eyebrow.

He frowned. "We did some things that might not really bear close examination, especially by people who weren't out there and don't understand what we were dealing with." For that matter, what if Starfleet Medical decided it wanted to dissect his brain to look for pieces of clone? Not that he really thought they'd go that far, but would they even need to? What if they decided a man with a clone brain shouldn't be trusted with sensitive technology?

What if word of Sim got out to the general public?

"The Expanse posed a number of unique challenges for all of us," T'Pol said softly. She looked away.

"Did you see Soval?"

"I did. He congratulated us on our remarkable survival, and requested a full report from me at the earliest opportunity. I told him I would be making any reports to Starfleet, but I was sure they would be happy to share them with him."

Trip grinned.

"Starfleet is organizing a reception with family members following a formal welcoming ceremony Tuesday morning."

"Great. You can meet my parents."

Her eyes widened, possibly in alarm. He smiled encouragingly.

"That will be followed by a memorial service for crew members who lost their lives," she said.

His smile faded.

She continued, "And _that _will be followed by a formal reception. Enlisted personnel will be free to begin their leaves at that point, but officers will need to stay for mission reports and debriefings." She took a sip of tea and said, "Of course, department heads will also be expected to provide current inventories of parts and provisions, as well as damage reports, personnel reports, maintenance requests, and any necessary repair or replacement orders."

He sighed. That sounded like many days of work before he could think to go anywhere. Oddly, the thought offered him some perverse comfort.

Now that this mission was finally ending, he wasn't entirely sure that he was ready to let it go.


	3. Home Part I

**SPOILERS:** "Home" and it may make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Home" was written by Michael Sussman.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** My muse was reluctant to get to Vulcan (not in the mood for suffering, most likely), so she decided to linger in the many open spaces of this episode for awhile, which means there will be multiple parts. For those of you who have read the Commander Tucker series, I'm trying to go in a different direction this time around (to the extent canon allows), so this Trip has a different family. Many thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

The fanfare of the welcoming ceremony over, the family reunion was staged in a gym on the Starfleet grounds. The crew entered in an approximation of parade formation that probably horrified their MACO contingent, and then the gathered masses were released upon them in a chaos of shrieking and hugging and crying. T'Pol and Archer stood a little to the side, observing it all; clearly, neither expected to be reunited with anyone, which struck Trip as a little sad in the moment before his mom's tackle practically knocked him over.

"Oh, honey!" she kept saying, holding him in a tight hug that just wouldn't quit. "Oh, it's so good to have you home safe!" She all but patted him down, squeezing his arms from the shoulders down to his wrists and pulling both his hands out to examine them, too. He withstood it patiently, ignoring the twinges where he was bruised. There was something about her compulsive examination that made him feel that yes, he really was home; yes, he really had survived. "What happened here?" she asked, touching him lightly next to the faint scar on his cheek from his interrogation.

"Nothing to write home about," he said, smiling down at her, thinking that she'd aged more than a person should in the time they'd been gone, though she still gave the impression of boundless energy. "Where's Dad?"

Her face clouded. "He asked me to tell you how proud he is."

"He didn't come?" Trip had never known his father to miss anything.

"This whole thing, it just takes him back to what happened to Elizabeth." She gave him a pained smile. "Your grandma's keeping an eye on him for me today."

His father had to be _watched?_

"Don't worry, he'll get better. He did before." She smiled tightly. "What's important is that _you're_ home at last! Tell me how you are!"

"I'm fine," he said automatically. "How are Cathy and Nate and the rest of the gang?"

"They're all fine, too. Hoping to see you soon. When are they going to let you go?"

"Pretty soon, I hope," he said. "Come say hi to Cap'n Archer. And I want you to meet T'Pol."

"Ooh!" his mom said. She gave Jon a big hug, which Trip thought was probably something his friend could use at this point, and then she shook hands politely with T'Pol, who hesitated only slightly in accepting the contact and looked at Trip as if to say _See? I shook hands with your mother_.

"I suppose your family is on Vulcan," his mom said.

"Yes, I am looking forward to seeing my mother. It has been over three years since I was home."

"She must be missing you something awful."

"She has made it rather clear that my presence is required," T'Pol said, which made Archer chuckle.

"Mom was curious when we're going to be free to go," Trip said, who also wanted to know. He had wrapped up most of his duties faster than expected, partly because his crew was so eager to be on their way, and partly because Starfleet had detailed a number of teams to help.

Archer frowned. "The project lead wants to do a walk-through with both of us, which we could probably get done tomorrow morning, and there's another mission de-briefing scheduled tomorrow afternoon. Assuming there are no issues with that, you should be free to go as soon as you're done testifying."

"_Testifying?_" Trip said, and both women turn to look at him. It hadn't occurred to him before that T'Pol was almost exactly the same height and build as his mother. Of course, their complexions were quite different.

Jon said, "Don't go looking for trouble, Trip. If there are any issues, they'll be for me to deal with, not you. In fact, Admiral Forrest already told T'Pol she could safely plan on taking a transport to Vulcan this Friday."

"Friday?" Trip said. He turned to T'Pol, "How long are you going for?"

"I haven't decided."

Some of the free-floating anxiety he'd been feeling suddenly congealed into a concern he could label without difficulty. "But you _are _coming back?"

Archer said, "We're working on that. The admiral is trying to get T'Pol formally commissioned as a commander." He grinned. "You wouldn't have any objections to that, I take it?"

"'Course not," Trip said. "About time she got the pips to go with the workload."

His mom patted him on the arm. "Honey, if the captain and T'Pol will excuse us a moment, I want to say hi to your friend Malcolm," his mom said. "I met his parents earlier today. They certainly are very… _proper_."

"Okay, let's find him," Trip said, and gave a parting smile to Jon and T'Pol. He wanted to see Malcolm, too, and he knew his mother had a good instinct for where extra hugs might be required.

x x x

Trip had offered his engineering crew a round of drinks at the 602 Club that night, his first opportunity to take them anywhere, but he was not terribly surprised when they preferred to begin their leaves instead. "I guess they didn't really think they should have to spend their first night back home in a bar with their boss," he told Jon. "I'll try to catch them on the return. How about you? Still up for that drink?"

"Sure, I'll have a beer, but then I want to go review some of my logs before tomorrow's debriefing."

It was quiet in the 602 Club – still pretty early. Trip didn't recognize the woman behind the bar and decided he didn't want to ask where Ruby was.

"Are we all set for the tour in the morning?" Archer asked, while they waited for their drinks to arrive.

"Yeah, no problem," Trip said. "Do you have any idea where T'Pol is?"

"She said she had to go to the Vulcan Consulate."

"Why?"

Archer shrugged. "You'd have to ask her. She did say she would let you buy her a drink, as I recall. Why don't you give her a call?"

"I think she was just being polite." The beer arrived. "To saving the universe," Trip toasted, which made the captain scowl. It was Trip's first beer on tap in over a year – not counting a brutal version he'd tried on that Human/Skagaran colony – and it didn't wow him as much as he had hoped.

Archer said, "I'm not sure T'Pol was just being polite. In case you haven't noticed, she shares a drink with us fairly often. I think maybe we've been a bad influence on her. Or at least _you _have."

Trip snickered. "I just hope she doesn't go back to Vulcan and decide to stay. I'd make a lousy first officer."

Archer tilted his head and gave him a long, appraising look. "I disagree. I think you've actually shared that role with T'Pol for the last three years. She does most of it, of course, but you've played a big role in her success."

Trip felt his cheeks warm. He was pleased that Jon had noticed his efforts there, and also a little surprised. "I try to help when I can. But First Officer isn't a good fit with Chief Engineer."

"I know. We'd have to put someone else in charge of the engines." Archer laughed. "You should see your face!"

"It's not funny! Those engines are _mine_."

"Well, with any luck it won't come to that." Archer lifted his glass in a toast. "To the current and hopefully future first officer and chief engineer … _respectively_ … of the starship _Enterprise._"

Trip smiled and drank. That had felt like another one of those odd not-really-overtly-stated blessings from the captain, though he supposed he might be reading too much into it.

"Why I didn't see your dad today?" Archer asked.

Trip sighed. "Apparently he wasn't feeling up to it."

"He's ill?"

"Depressed. Lizzie."

Archer grimaced in commiseration. "You are going to go see them, aren't you? I know you've been talking about lying on all those tropical beaches."

"Oh, don't worry, they'll get me first. Probably tomorrow, if I really am free to go then."

"Good. I think you will be."

"How about you?" Trip said, cocking his head. "Don't you have anyone you want to go see?"

Archer gave him a tight smile. "Honestly… I think I'll be happy if I just don't have to say hello to anyone for a month."

Trip downed the last of his beer. "I guess I can understand that." The reception after the memorial service that afternoon had certainly been a traumatic way to end a very long day. Taylor's mother had broken down in noisy tears, asking him _why? _A few of the more demonstrative relatives had indulged in breast-beating, keening, and fainting. Hayes' and Forbes' families had looked pale and stunned, obviously still reeling from the awful news.

Although T'Pol had withstood all the emotions at play with no obvious difficulty, Trip could see her stiffening up as the reception went on. No wonder she'd run off to the Vulcan consulate. She probably just wanted to be in the one place she could be certain to avoid any further outward displays of grief.

Jon said, "You do _want_ to spend time with your family, don't you?"

"Yeah, of course," Trip said, a little grimly. The truth, though, was that his dad in this condition was an alarming unknown. He couldn't imagine how depressed he must be to have missed today's events. He'd also never seen his parents' new place in Mississippi, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to _ooh_ and _ah_ over real estate.

Just to top it all off, his girlfriend was heading 16 light years away and who knew if or when she'd return or if she even considered herself his girlfriend at all.

"Why don't we go back up?" he said.

_Enterprise_ felt more like home to him than any other place, now.

* * *

_To be continued_


	4. Home Part II

**Disclaimers, **etc. in Part I

**Author's Note: **My college already called a snow day for tomorrow, so I figured I had time to give this an edit and post it. And yep, I'm dragging it out. Why hurry towards misery? As always, many thanks to my reviewers.

* * *

Walking into the Vulcan Consulate was like walking back into another life.

A much heavier life.

Vulcans who lived for extended periods on Earth and similar planets tried to mitigate the inevitable loss of bone density and muscle by providing themselves with artificial gravity at Vulcan-normal where they could, as they did here at the Consulate.

However, Enterprise's gravity plating was (understandably) designed to replicate Earth's gravity. T'Pol had tried to compensate with a rigorous program of weight bearing exercise, and Phlox had also administered the occasional hypo spray to combat bone thinning. Clearly, however, her efforts in the gym had not been sufficient. Simply walking across the lobby now demanded conscious effort, although she hoped her difficulty would not be apparent to others.

Of course, this kind of deterioration was easily remedied by spending time on Vulcan, which was what she planning now. The question was how much time.

In theory, of course, she could simply return home and stay there.

The artificial gravity had long made the Vulcan consulate a favorite field trip for science students, and there was a just such a group of Human adolescents being ushered through the soaring lobby as she arrived. They were wide-eyed and unnaturally quiet. T'Pol doubted that suddenly weighing more had caused an outbreak of silence, so perhaps someone had taught them that Vulcans disapproved of noisy chatter. She watched them file silently into the air lock that would lead them into the domed courtyard, where a carefully controlled environment provided a haven for various flora and fauna indigenous to her home planet.

She was certain she would be experiencing far more Vulcan disapproval this evening than any of those students need fear.

Of course, no one had forced her to attend this meeting. She had resigned her position with the High Command; she no longer had any official connection to Ambassador Soval. However, given their history together, she felt it would be reckless and perhaps rude not to seek his advice, even if she was probably going to disregard it. And before returning home, she thought it would be wise to try to 'get the lay of the land,' as Trip or Archer would put it.

This was perhaps especially necessary now that Admiral Forrest had told her he expected to be able to offer her a Starfleet commission before the week was out.

She had decisions to make.

When she was shown into the Ambassador's office, she was surprised – and less than pleased – to see he had company.

She raised her hand in the ta'al and waited for an explanation.

"T'Pol," Soval said, after returning the gesture. "This is Doctor Fer'at."

Ah. She recognized the name: he was the psychiatrist who had attempted to covertly assess the captain's mental state before they headed into the Expanse. Apparently they had concerns about her. She raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I have read your reports, since Starfleet was so kind as to pass them along to me," Soval said, a little sourly.

She said nothing. The silence stretched out. It was pointless to hope that it would make either man uncomfortable, but she had no desire to facilitate this process.

"T'Pol, I believe _you_ requested this meeting," Soval reminded her.

"I did, Ambassador. I did not expect a psychiatrist to be present for it, however. Perhaps another time would be more convenient for you?"

Soval frowned. "We could not help but notice your report of dangerous exposure to an alien substance with psychotropic effects, as well as to sleep disturbances and other issues. And we are naturally curious about exactly what happened to the crew of the _Seleya_. Dr. Fer'at is here to assess your condition and also to request that you release your health records to us."

"I would be pleased to authorize Dr. Phlox to report to you about my Trellium-D exposure on the _Seleya_. However, I would prefer not to release my entire medical history."

Dr Fer'at said, "Then I can only assume that your condition is a matter of some concern."

T'Pol regarded him coolly. "The Human custom of providing privacy in these matters is something I have grown to appreciate, especially since I have seen how the High Command is willing to use such information."

"Indeed," Fer'at said. "That is another reason for our concern. Could you at least update us on the current status of your Pa'nar Syndrome?"

"Is there a particular reason you need that information?"

Fer'at turned to Soval. "Presumably you will wish to return to Vulcan at some point," Soval said, sounding a little weary. "It would be helpful to know whether you pose any danger to your fellow citizens."

She could feel her face flush. "It was a mistake to come here." She turned to leave.

"T'Pol," Soval said. "No one is suggesting you will be prevented from returning home to your mother, who is undoubtedly eager to see you again. Indeed, it is not beyond the realm of possibility that the High Command would be willing to reinstate your rank and position. We are merely taking logical precautions. I'm sure even Starfleet has required a certain degree of medical and psychological screening of your crewmates on _Enterprise_."

"Starfleet Medical trusts Dr. Phlox to make that assessment."

Fer'at said, "We could do that too, if you released his records to us."

"Ask Phlox for an assessment of my mental state, since it concerns you," she said. "I will not object. But I see no need for you to have access to my complete records. _Starfleet _respects the privacy of its personnel."

The two men looked at each other. Soval frowned slightly and changed the subject. "May I at least ask what your plans are?"

"I was planning to return home for a visit," she said. Indeed, she had already booked a cabin on a transport that was departing Friday, and she had told her mother about it. T'Les would not be pleased if it were delayed.

"A _visit?_ Nothing more?"

She said nothing.

"You have not yet married, have you?" Fer'at said. "Are you not somewhat past the usual age for that?"

"I broke off my betrothal."

"Why?" the doctor asked.

She glanced at Soval. He looked dispassionate, as if he were simply waiting for an answer. She said, "I do not see how that can be any of your concern."

Soval and the doctor exchanged another look. Soval said, "You do understand that Starfleet would hardly approve of a romantic relationship between you and Captain Archer."

She stared at him. "I would hardly expect them to. Fortunately, no such relationship exists."

Soval said, "You have obviously established a strong, even excessive, bond of loyalty with him. Surely you realize how irrational it is to make that necessarily temporary situation a substitute for the lifelong benefits of marriage and parenthood with one of your own kind?"

Perhaps Starfleet had classified their reports about Lorian and the other _Enterprise_. Soval seemed entirely ignorant of where her affections actually lay. But that was just as well. She said, "Since I suffer from Pa'nar Syndrome, I am arguably no longer a suitable candidate for that."

Fer'at raised an intrigued eyebrow. "You sought to spare your betrothed?"

"No. I made that decision before I contracted the disease. But given my condition, any continuing interest in me as a mate is illogical." Koss's father served at a high level in the Ministry of Security, so she had little doubt that he would know about the Pa'nar Syndrome.

"I find that somewhat puzzling as well," Soval said. "However, Koss's father continues to inquire rather frequently as to your status. Such personal matters do not generally fall under my purview, for which I am grateful." He sat down. "What are your _long-term_ plans, T'Pol?"

She straightened. "I may formalize my relationship with Starfleet."

Soval 's face darkened.

"Why would you do that?" Fer'at asked.

"I have found my service on _Enterprise _uniquely satisfying," she said. "I can think of no other posting in which I can be more useful."

"Surely service on a _Vulcan_ vessel would be more likely to serve _Vulcan_ interests," Soval said, "as well as your own."

"I disagree," T'Pol said. "Did you not read my reports about the spheres? If we had not destroyed them, Vulcan and all the other inhabited planets of this sector would eventually have been swallowed up by the Expanse."

Fer'at looked questioningly at Soval, who nodded, perhaps a bit grudgingly. Soval said, "While that is indeed a worthy accomplishment, it is not one that is likely to be repeated. You have lived among the Humans for a long time, far longer than any other Vulcan. It would be reasonable and _desirable_ for you to turn your attention to other matters now."

"I will make that choice when I am ready," she said.

Soval's eyes narrowed. "Why did you come here, T'Pol?"

"I wished to pay my respects to you before I traveled home."

"In that case, you have accomplished your mission. Give my regards to your mother." Soval had perhaps spent too much time among Humans himself, for his irritation was plainly evident.

"I will," she said, offering a perfunctory ta'al, and turned once again to leave.

Before she could make it out of the room, Fer'at said, "My clinical experience suggests to me that young women who lose their fathers at a young age sometimes form a persistent attachment to a male authority figure as a form of compensation for that early loss."

T'Pol stopped. "Indeed," she said curtly.

Fer'at continued, "Also, Humans who work together in dangerous situations are well known to form ties that are affectionate and pseudo-familial in nature. This may explain your irrational compulsion to remain among them."

She turned around to face him. "If there is any _psychiatric_ explanation for my attachment to my post on _Enterprise_, I suspect it may be the novelty of being considered the least emotional person in the room after a lifetime among my own people of experiencing quite the reverse. If you will excuse me, gentlemen."

This time she made it out the door. Once in the lobby, she considered quickly visiting the courtyard and its sampling of Vulcan life forms, an old pleasure, but her desire to escape the Consulate was too strong, so she pushed forward until she was out the heavy doors and all but bounding into the cooler, moister air of Sausalito.

She had to go home, she knew that. She must fulfill her obligation towards her mother.

But she was quite certain, now, that she did not wish to stay there.

x x x

During the reception following the memorial service, Trip had mentioned that he was going to attempt to round up his crew for a drink at the 602 Club that evening and reminded her that she was invited as well. But she had no desire to leave the grounds of Starfleet, even if that particular establishment was close by. Her encounters with civilians so far had been unpredictable: some had recognized her from the news feeds and thanked her for her service; others had glared at her with undisguised hostility.

So she took a shuttle back up to _Enterprise_, and once on the ship she ignored what Tucker had told her about his plans and let her feet take her to his door instead of her own.

It slid open to his smile. "I was wondering if I was going to see you tonight," he said.

She walked in, noting immediately that he had a duffle bag open on his bunk. "I was at the Vulcan Consulate."

"Yeah, the Cap'n told me. We missed you at the 602 Club. My gang decided they had better things to do, so it was just me and him."

"You are packing."

"I'm off to see my parents tomorrow evening, assuming they let me go. I'd ask you if you'd like to come along, but my dad's feeling under the weather. I'm not sure he's up to company."

"I hope he will recover soon. How long will you be gone?"

"I'm not sure yet. You're leaving Friday?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "Not forever, I hope."

"That is not my current plan."

He picked up his duffel bag and put it aside, then sat down on the bunk and patted it. "Sit down, take a load off."

She sat down. "Thank you. The higher gravity at the Consulate was … noticeable."

"Huh," he said. "I hadn't thought of that. Did you see Soval?"

"Yes."

Perhaps responding to something in her tone, he said, "And?"

"I had hoped for a private meeting, but he had a _psychiatrist_ with him."

"Oh," Trip said. He sounded concerned, but not outraged, which made her wonder what _he_ thought about her mental state. "They're probably wondering why you didn't go nuts like all the other Vulcans in the Expanse."

"Perhaps," she said, a bit mollified that Trip apparently didn't consider her 'nuts.'

Still, the unpleasant surprise of that meeting rankled. Soval had generally afforded her a closer relationship. Perhaps she had offended him by refusing to give him her reports directly? But Soval of all people understood the chain of command.

Perhaps he had desired to insulate himself from the political taint of any perceived personal connection to her.

Yes, that made the most sense.

And it did not bode well for any future career on her home planet.

The other puzzle was why Koss's father continued to take an interest in her, for surely that betrothal was a dead issue by now.

"You okay?" Trip said, and took her hand companionably.

She looked down at his hand and wondered, not for the first time, how such simple contact could offer such profound comfort. "I'm fine," she said.

"Uh huh," Trip said, with a little disbelieving smirk. "Me, too. We're all just perfectly fine."

She looked into his face until his sardonic expression transformed into something more serious, and he leaned forward and kissed her.

She responded eagerly. She wanted nothing more at this moment than to feel his bare skin against hers and lose herself in passionate union with this most lovely of men.

With that, she was certain, she truly _would _be fine, at least for awhile.

* * *

_**To be continued…**_


	5. Home Part III

**Disclaimers, **etc. in Part I

**Author's Note:** Thanks for your patience with this extended version for "Home." I think there will be at least five parts. My goal was to reduce the angst for Trip in this series over the Commander Tucker series, but I'm a little worried that with all this expansion I'm actually setting him up for something worse. (Actually, what I fear is that I'm setting YOU up for something worse. Trip being fictional, I'm confident that he can take it.)

All I can say is that if I can find a way to lighten it up a little when I finally get there, I will.

And, of course, many thanks to you lovely reviewers.

* * *

"Dad?" Trip walked into his parents' darkened bedroom.

He had arrived at their new home in Pascagoula not too long after dinner, when it was just getting dark, but his father had already gone to bed. His mother had insisted he eat some warmed-up seafood gumbo first – it hadn't been too hard to get him to agree to that – and only then had she allowed him to head down the hall to his father, with a warning not to expect too much of a greeting.

The mound under the bed covers stirred. "Trip?"

Trip walked further in, noting the pungent smell of a man who hadn't bathed in a few days. "How ya' doin, Dad?"

"Oh, I'm okay." His father sat up in bed and switched on a bedside lamp, revealing a sickly white face. "Let me look at you. Still in one piece?"

"So it seems."

"How was it out there?"

"It was a little bit of everything, I guess." There was a chair near the bed, layered with discarded clothing, so Trip moved those aside and sat on it. "But we're home safe now."

"That's good," his father said, but it sounded hollow.

"So what's going on?"

"You tell me." His voice had gone thin and high.

"Well, you're not looking too good."

His father sighed. "Here's the God's honest truth, Trip: I'd let myself get used to the idea that it would all be over soon. I didn't think there was any way in hell one starship could make a difference out there. And I was kind of hoping I'd see your sister again in some kind of afterlife. All of you all together again, really. At the least, I'd be able to stop feeling bad about what happened."

"That wasn't your fault."

His dad made a sour face; clearly, he wasn't going to be persuaded on that. "I was doing okay when I figured I wouldn't have to stick it out forever. I got a lot of little projects finished, made things as nice as I could for your mother here." His voice rose in complaint. "But now it turns out we're _safe_ and life is just supposed to go on the way it _always_ has, year after year after _year…_." His eyes filled with tears.

Trip didn't know whether he was more embarrassed or insulted. Embarrassed because his father wasn't the kind of man who ever cried in public – never even got teary-eyed during movies, unlike Trip. In dangerous situations he'd always been steady as a rock. But Trip also couldn't believe his own father had been rooting for them to fail. "Are you really telling me you're _disappointed_ the planet wasn't destroyed?"

His father didn't respond, just put his head in his hands and sniffed.

"I don't even know what to think about that," Trip said.

"Do you think I _want_ to feel this way? I am really tired of it. Everyone's tired of it. Believe me, I've had enough. I just want it to stop."

Trip felt a chill of apprehension. "Does your doctor know you're thinking like that?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry. I would never do that to your mother. And the doctors do know, but it takes days for the medication to kick in." He sighed. "If this is like the last time, they'll have me 'functional' in another week or two and I'll be a productive little cog in the machine again. But doesn't a man have any right to grieve when bad things happen? Why _should_ I be happy?"

"You don't have to be _happy_. You just have to…" _Suck it up_, he wanted to say. _Suck it up and be my dad again_. But perhaps he shouldn't talk. "I had a real hard time over Lizzie too."

His father shot him a hostile look. "Which you're all over now."

"I don't know about that. But … I do feel like I was finally able to let her go and get on with my life … and that wasn't very long ago, actually." And he was just her brother. It made sense that this was harder for his dad. But this was far beyond anything Trip had ever imagined in terms of failure to cope.

"Look," his dad said. "Obviously, this isn't your problem. I'm glad you're okay. I really am."

"Thanks."

"Why don't you go keep your mother company? I'm tired. Not sleeping too well lately."

"All right," Trip said. "Good night, Daddy." He bent down and kissed him on the forehead. The Tuckers were never very verbal about their deepest feelings, but he forced himself to say it: "I love you."

His dad's eyes filled again, and he ducked back down under the covers. His voice muffled by them, he said, "Welcome home, boy."

It wasn't exactly the homecoming he'd imagined. He turned off the bedside lamp and quietly closed the door on his way out. He went back out to the kitchen, where his mother was wiping down the counters. "I don't know what to say."

She said, "Obviously, he's very depressed."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"The drugs will kick in soon," she said. "They have to build up slowly. He's also on tranquilizers just to get him over the hump until that happens, so he's a little out of it. He'll get better. It just takes awhile. He was like this back when it first happened, too, but it took you so long to get home you didn't see him when he was at his worst."

"You've been having a hell of a time, then."

She sighed. "Marriage is for better or for worse, honey. Honestly, I think your father probably could handle all of this a lot better if he hadn't lost his first wife and a baby. Back then he had two young children to raise and couldn't afford to fall apart. I think maybe it's all piled up on him, somehow."

Trip felt that odd sense of disconnection he always felt whenever anyone referred to his father's first marriage. Although Cathy and Nate were technically only his half-siblings, he'd only ever thought of them as his older sister and brother. His mother had legally adopted them, so they were never referred to as stepchildren, and she was always "Mom" to them. It wasn't until an angry teenage Cathy had screamed something at his mom about her not being her _real _mom that he'd learned about the accident that had ended his father's first marriage.

The thought crossed his mind that his father sure had rotten luck – if Trip was going to believe in something as unscientific as luck, and he wasn't.

"So how are _you_ doing, Mom?" Trip said.

"So much better now that I know you're safe," she said. "Come on; let's go sit with your grandma. You can tell us all about your adventures."

x x x

Trip had already thought about what he should tell his family – beyond what Starfleet had already classified, and what he just didn't feel like sharing – and so he had focused on the Humans they'd found out in the Expanse with the Skagarans, and then he shared a few tidbits about the Xindi, like how they had five different species. He told how those Insectoid eggs had gotten the cap'n to turn crazily maternal, and how wild it was to come home in the belly of an Aquatic ship, and he even tried – since neither his mother nor his grandmother could understand how the Xindi had ended up helping them – to explain how he'd come around to liking Degra after hating his guts.

Normally, his father would have been there, all ears, demanding more details and adding his own unique commentary, but Trip supposed it was just as well he wasn't. It was unlikely his father would understand his change of heart about Degra; as it was, his mother's face had turned stony and he realized she couldn't either, so he quickly switched to what had happened on the planet of the Loque'eque.

It would probably serve him right if this somehow got twisted into rumors about a terrible new viral threat from outer space next time Grandma went to get her hair done – Mary-Lou Anthony loved gossip and excitement and she wasn't above a little embroidering to make it more interesting – but she started snoring before he'd even finished, so maybe she would just forget about it. His mother gently prodded her mother awake and helped her off to bed.

He went out in the backyard. There was a cool breeze, but it was warmer here than in San Francisco. His parents' new place obviously sat on water of some kind. It was a cloudy night, and so their dock extended into an inky blackness broken only by the bobbing reflection of their own and their neighbors' lights on the gently lapping water. The air was moist and heavy with the earthy, faintly sulfurous odor of decaying vegetation and maybe manure of some kind. Perhaps there was a marsh nearby, or a farm, or both, or maybe his mom was already getting her garden prepped for tomato season.

He wondered if the smell would bother T'Pol. Between that and his dad, it was no doubt just as well he hadn't tried to bring her, but he was missing her more than he'd expected. Indeed, for the first time in any relationship, he wasn't feeling even the tiniest little sense of relief at getting away on his own again.

For the last three nights in a row they had slept together in his bed. And it had felt completely normal. In the past he'd always found it a little awkward to negotiate sleep with another person in his bed, especially one as narrow as his bunk, but somehow T'Pol had just fit. He suspected he would feel bereft tonight without her warm weight curled up against him.

What was she doing now? It was only 2100 or so back in San Francisco. Should he call?

He couldn't believe she was leaving Friday and he wouldn't see her again until … he didn't know when.

And how had they managed to spend three nights in a row in the same bed without ever having a conversation about what it meant?

He didn't know if he should call her because she was his girlfriend, or not call her because that would imply she wa_s_ his girlfriend. He had no idea what _any_ of this meant to a Vulcan. Hell, she probably didn't know what any of this meant to a Vulcan. Vulcans didn't have girlfriends or boyfriends. They had fiancés that were arranged for them in childhood. And then they got married.

They got married.

Would she even _consider_ that? Would he? _Should_ he? He couldn't help thinking back to their first time, when he'd asked her if this would mean they were officially married on 12 planets. He wasn't entirely sure that somehow she didn't think down in her bones that they were, even though she'd said otherwise.

Starfleet sure as hell didn't think they were officially married, though. And if they did, he'd probably be seeing even less of her.

He heard the screen door on the back porch squeak open behind him. "Brrr," his mom said. "Aren't you cold?

"Nope." Trip smiled at the old routine; his mother was always complaining of cold when he was perfectly comfortable.

"It's a pretty view. You'll see in the morning. There's an island back there that's used as a bird sanctuary. It's noisy as hell with all the squawking, but you get used to it."

"Why did you guys leave Florida?"

"Well, we wanted a change, and we just loved this property. It's not very far."

"You're _two_ _states _away."

"Aw, there's really just a little stretch of Alabama in between. We can go and look at the site tomorrow, if you want."

"I saw it last time. I don't need to see it again."

"They've put up a new memorial … a whole bunch of them, actually, for just about every town that got hit. They decided to just let it fill up with water. It would cost a fortune to find that much clean fill, and since you really can't recreate the limestone layer, filling it with anything solid could disrupt the aquifer and cause sink holes. There's going to be a long park that runs all the way alongside it, and they're running a bunch of design competitions for bridges and so forth. Your sister would have been excited about it if she were still here. It'll end up being a major recreational area."

Trip said nothing. Obviously, Lizzie would never get to be excited about anything ever again. And it struck him as a little obscene that kids would someday run and scream in play along that long stretch of devastation.

Hell, they probably already did.

But then again, that was what kids did. Life went on. He felt a pang of commiseration with his father: he could see how that could feel like an outrage you could take personally.

"You okay?" his mom asked.

"I'm fine," he said. "Let's go in. You're cold. You must be tired too."

"I'm fine," his mother said. "I'm a bit of a night owl lately. Let me show you the guest room, in case you want to settle in."

He walked back in through the family room and noticed the pile of sheets and blankets on the sofa. "What's this for?"

"I've been using the guest room while your father is ill. He's very restless, and he wakes up and wants to turn on the monitor. And I need my sleep."

He wondered if she was diplomatically leaving out the way his dad smelled, but maybe she was used to that. "So why would you try to sleep out here? I don't mind the couch."

"Don't be silly, Trip. You've come a long way to get here." She smiled. "I think it's safe to say you've come a longer way than anyone has ever come _ever._"

"Yeah, well, I didn't come all this way to kick you out of your bed. I'll be fine here."

For a moment there he thought he saw her eyes fill – and thought perhaps he'd caught just a passing glimpse of a deeply unhappy woman. "All right," she said. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he said. It _was_ nothing. All he could really do for his parents he had already done – he'd helped to save their planet.

The rest of all this was really beyond him.

x x x

The next morning, he and his mother were the only ones up early for coffee. His mom hadn't been kidding about the birds. The squawks and caws and chirps and hootings were intense, and the island out in the lake (which he could now see) was practically wall-papered with large white wood storks, punctuated by the occasional egret, wood duck or coot. In addition, a loose flock of lanky sand hill cranes was picking its way across the dewy lawn and occasionally erupting into cacophonous gargling screams. "It's even louder than usual this morning," his mom said. "I think the mating season must be getting started."

She took a sip and looked at him and said, "So is it just my imagination, or have you been talking about T'Pol even more than you used to?"

He stared at her. It was too early in the morning for him to think strategically about this. "Maybe."

"Is that likely to be any good for you? I thought Vulcans never express any emotions."

He shrugged. "They do it in their own way. Or maybe it's just her, I don't know."

"And?"

Truth was, he welcomed the chance to talk about this with someone, finally. "She got me through a really rough patch. I don't know where it's going or what can ever come of it or whether this might just be some sort of weird battlefield thing that I shouldn't trust, but…" he sighed.

She gave him an odd little smile. "You're smitten."

He didn't say yes, but he didn't deny it either.

She said, "And she said she was going to Vulcan?"

He realized that he had hunched over and sat up, trying to relax his shoulders. "She leaves tomorrow." He'd finally decided to call T'Pol the night before, after his mother went to bed. They had exchanged their news of what had happened during the day, which was busy enough since it had included Forrest formally offering her that commission. She hadn't yet decided whether to take it, and after she'd told him that he put away any thought of asking her what their relationship meant. If she were serious about him, he didn't think that would be a hard decision. After that, it had felt a little risky just telling her he missed her. Fortunately, she had responded in kind.

And then he'd gone to bed on the slightly-too-short sofa and missed her even more.

His mother said, "I'd tell you to invite her here, but with your dad so ill…"

"Yeah, I know. Maybe when he's better."

"When does she get back?"

"I don't know. I'm not even certain that she _will_ come back."

"Oh, honey. Well, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why you're so antsy."

He stared at his mom. But she was right. He _was_ antsy. He hadn't slept well, between the sofa being a little too short and obsessing about how T'Pol was leaving. What if coming back wasn't even up to her? Maybe they'd decide she needed to detoxify from all that humanity or something. Maybe they'd pack her off to logic boot camp. Maybe she wouldn't even want to shake his hand again.

"You know," his mom said. "This is not going to be fun for you here until your father's feeling better. And Cathy and Nate aren't particularly keen on the kids seeing Grandpa like this. Why don't you go back, see T'Pol before she goes, then go do something fun and relaxing for a little while? You've got a nice long leave this time. You can come back and spend some time with us before you ship out again."

"You wouldn't mind that?" Trip said. "I figured on staying here at least a week."

She shook her head. "I don't mind. You gave us last night, and I really appreciate that. Just come back again before you're off across the galaxy again," she said. "With any luck by the time you get back it will be a lot happier around here, and you can even have a bed of your own."

"Grandma is going to get on my case for leaving so soon."

"Trip, honey, you just saved the planet. I think you should be able to handle your grandma."

x x x

When the door to her cabin slid open, Trip drawled, "Honey, I'm home."

T'Pol's eyebrow quirked upward. She stepped back and let him in. He noticed that a single candle was lit and deduced that she had been meditating.

She said, "You had spoken of staying with your parents for a week."

"Yeah, I know. Change of plans. It wasn't really the best time to stay there."

"Is everything all right?"

"No, but it will be," he said. "It was just bad timing with my father ill. I'll go back before we ship out. He should be in better shape by then. Maybe you'd like to go with me, if you get back in time."

She regarded him silently.

He raised his eyebrows, pretending to a confidence he didn't feel. "Wouldn't you like to meet the crazy Tucker clan?"

"Your mother did not strike me as particularly deranged."

"It's a figure of speech. We're not _technically_ crazy. Though when you get us together in high enough numbers it can begin to feel that way."

She looked as if she was thinking hard, and he swallowed, suddenly nervous that everything was about to fall apart. But then she said, "If I am back by then, I would be honored."

He grinned in pleasure, though he also felt a stab of anxiety at her disclaimer. "I hope you _will_ be back by then. You were meditating?"

"Yes."

"All set for your trip?"

"No, but I will have sufficient time to pack."

She was definitely radiating a nervous energy of some kind, but he wasn't sure how to interpret it. Surprising her with his sudden arrival might not have been a good idea. Probably Vulcans in general were not great fans of spontaneity. Maybe she'd had a list of things she was going to do today and he was messing it up. "Should I go and let you finish your meditation?"

She straightened and frowned. "Only if you prefer that to copulation."

He laughed in relief, as well as at her total lack of romantic subtlety. "No, I can't say that I would."

She stared at him until he realized she was waiting for him. "Right," he said, and stepped forward to kiss her, and as he wrapped his arms around her and sank his tongue into her wonderful hot mouth and felt her own hands grasping and pulling him towards her bed, he realized that even with all the uncertainties between them, _this _felt a lot more like coming home than anything he would ever experience in Mississippi.


	6. Home Part IV

**Disclaimers**, etc. in Part I

**Author's Note:** No major angst yet, but this may be our last reprieve from that.

* * *

"Your purpose in traveling to Vulcan?"

T'Pol watched Trip's mouth open, then close. He glanced uncomfortably at her, then back at the dour Vulcan who was serving as their boarding agent. "To see the sights?" he said.

The man looked dissatisfied, perhaps because Trip had answered his question with what appeared to be another. He had already studied the engineer's identity data with excessive thoroughness, as if he fully expected to discover a problem.

T'Pol offered, "Commander Tucker will be making a personal visit and visiting various sites of historic or aesthetic value."

The man stared at T'Pol slighter longer than was entirely polite, then turned his attention back to the engineer, waiting.

"What she said," Trip said. When the man continued to wait, he scowled and added, "I'll be making a personal visit as well as sightseeing." He frowned at her, his expression clearly communicating _what the hell is his problem?_

Indeed, what _was_ the man's problem? Was he simply an extreme form of that pan-galactic phenomenon_, the bureaucrat? _Or did something in particular about her or Trip offend him_? _

"Where will you be staying?" the agent asked.

Trip opened his mouth, then hesitated and looked at T'Pol.

"He will be staying in the household of Lady T'Les in the Academy District of ShiKahr," T'Pol said, then supplied the full address in Vulcan.

"You can confirm this?" the man asked Trip, and T'Pol felt her face flush hot: the man had all but implied she was a liar.

"I think she knows where her mom lives a hell of a lot better than I do," Trip said.

The man waited.

"Yes!" Trip said. "I can confirm that!"

"And how long will your visit last?"

Trip frowned and turned to her. "We probably should have discussed this a little more thoroughly. How long _will_ I be there?"

"How long do you wish to stay?"

"I have no idea. A week or two? How long will your mother want to put up with me?"

"Commander Tucker's visit is of unknown duration," T'Pol said to the agent. "But it will not in any event last longer than six weeks."

"Better make that five," Trip said to the man, then added for her benefit, "I need to spend some more time with my folks before we ship out again."

"Do you have proof of return passage or sufficient funds for your return passage?" the man asked Trip.

Trip's eyes widened, and he turned to her again. She had already informed him that he could share her cabin on the way out, which made the additional expense of his meals and tariffs a negligible factor. "Do they accept our travel credits?"

"If you do not return with me, you should be able to arrange passage on a Starfleet vessel at no cost."

"Oh, right," he said. He turned back to the agent. "As a Starfleet officer I don't _require_ sufficient funds for a return trip. But I think I have them anyway. At any rate, I should be able to get them if I need to."

The man stared at him for a moment, apparently processing his response, and T'Pol was prepared to hear him insist on something he could slide more easily into the proper bureaucratic slot, but apparently he was satisfied because instead he turned to his monitor and read off it in a monotone: "Atmospheric and gravitational differences on Vulcan can present physical challenges to Humans. Have you ever suffered from high-altitude sickness, heat stroke, difficulty breathing, or any kind of heart condition?"

"Uh…" Trip gave her another uncertain look. He _had_ suffered heat stroke, of course. Twice.

"You should have received the necessary medical clearance in the commander's identity documents," she told the man. "Furthermore, Commander Tucker will be under my personal supervision during his visit. I will ensure that he receives prompt medical attention should he require it."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Do you have medical credentials?"

"I don't believe any are required," T'Pol said, quite certain that they were not.

Defeated, the agent didn't respond; he simply returned Trip's identity card to him. "You may board. Live long and prosper," he added curtly, without lifting his eyes or raising his hand in the ta'al.

"Thanks," Trip responded, either accidentally or intentionally neglecting to respond as she had taught him. He didn't move on, since he clearly intended to wait for her.

She handed her own identity card over.

This time the agent had no questions; he simply checked her in and handed it back to her with a terse, "You may board."

He offered her no salutation at all.

x x x

Once through the airlock, they were met by an attendant who led the way to their cabin. At the door, Trip tried to wait and let T'Pol go first, as would be customary among Humans of his cultural background, but she signaled for him to go ahead. Their escort didn't miss that she had just taken some pains to treat this Human with the respect due a husband and raised an intrigued eyebrow. T'Pol ignored her and continued calmly into the room behind her chosen mate. She knew that news of her traveling companion would get back to the High Command. She hoped that Koss's parents would finally accept that it was pointless to hope for any change in her decision about the wedding.

The attendant politely pointed out their food synthesizer, reviewed emergency protocols and how to contact her for assistance, and departed.

Trip turned around, hands on his hips. "Cozy," he said. His face was flushed.

"You're hot," T'Pol said.

He nodded.

"The environmental controls are currently set at Vulcan norms, but we can adjust them."

He sighed. "I ought to try to get acclimated. You'd think a Florida boy could handle the heat better. The gravity, on the other hand…"

She went to the controls and lowered the temperature. "I am also somewhat uncomfortable. We cannot adjust the gravity. In terms of temperature, however, gradual increases over the course of our voyage should allow us to acclimate to Vulcan norms without undue discomfort."

He smiled a little weakly. "Thanks." He licked his lips. The narrow room was set up with two thin bunks on one wall, one above the other, with a narrow storage bay on the opposite wall. Beyond the bunks, the cabin opened up into a small square, just wide enough to allow a table and two cushions that could serve for meals and meditation. She had paid an additional tariff to have an outside cabin with a port hole, and did not regret the expense, for this room was even smaller than her cabin on _Enterprise_.

Besides, she could afford it. Admiral Forrest had made sure she was paid retroactively for her time in the Expanse, and the Humans compensated their officers more generously than did the High Command, which tended to assume that as long as one's basic needs were provided for, one should not require much more. She did not find the economic system on Earth particularly logical – in her opinion, it encouraged excessive consumption – but it was oddly pleasing to have such a comparatively large sum suddenly at her disposal.

She placed her single bag in one of the long narrow storage compartments, and he did the same with his two smaller ones.

"Is there a bathroom?" he asked.

She nodded, and showed him how to push a command on a wall panel to reveal the very low toilet, the tiny sink, and the sonic shower.

"How the hell does this thing work?" he asked.

No doubt he had noticed the lack of any showerhead. "It utilizes a fine mist augmented by sonic vibrations," she said. "Like most Vulcan technologies, it is designed to conserve water."

"That makes sense," he says. "Which do you like better, yours or ours?"

"I must admit I consider _Enterprise_'s showers a rather pleasant luxury."

"Well, there you go. Another reason to accept that commission." He smiled.

"Indeed." She hadn't told him her decision, and it appeared he was now on a campaign to persuade her. In truth, she didn't need persuading – she already knew what she wanted to do – but she felt she ought to spend some time on her home planet before she finally committed herself to a career that would likely be spent largely away from it.

Humans, she suddenly remembered, needed access to bathroom facilities far more often than Vulcans did. "Do you require privacy?" she asked.

He laughed. "No, I was just curious." He exited the bathroom and, after some fumbling, found the control to slide the panel shut again. "So you're not at all concerned about how this looks?"

"About how what looks?"

"You're sharing a cabin with a man … a Human … a guy you're not married to. I'm assuming that's why that guy was so huffy with us."

"I am at a loss to explain the agent's rude behavior. Vulcans only mate every seven years, so they do not expect a couple to engage in sexual activity simply because they are sharing a room. It would be illogical to book two cabins when one suffices."

Trip squinted at her. "You're still sticking to that seven years thing? Does this mean that any moment now you're going to say thanks, but now I've had enough sex to last the next seven years?"

"I don't believe so."

"Because we've been…" Obviously embarrassed, he flapped his hands about. "You know … _plenty_."

"That is most likely because you are Human. Your sex drive is ..."

He grinned. "Constant?"

She raised both eyebrows in unspoken agreement.

He said, "Okay, but I haven't noticed that _yours _is exactly missing in action either."

She sat down on the lower bunk. The temperature had quickly adjusted to something more comfortable. "Vulcan women react to their mates."

He frowned in obvious distaste. "That makes it sound like we're just some kind of rutting animals."

Should she try to explain the full ramification of "mate" in Vulcan terms?

But for all Trip's open affection – and for all that he had happily accepted her invitation to accompany her – she feared that he could not possibly be ready for the lifetime commitment she had made with him without even realizing it. For she was now fairly certain that there was no going back, at least not for her.

Instead, she said, "We each fall into our respective planet's taxonomy of primate species."

He sighed. "But we're not like them at all. It's not like I have to fight off all the other males and then chase you across the jungle and pin you down with my superior masculine strength." He sat down next to her and put an affectionate hand on her knee. "Unless you want me to, anyway."

She said nothing. Clearly Trip was not completely familiar with _pon farr_, but she was not ready to enlighten him. Not yet.

He said, "Which is probably lucky for me. I think you would beat me in a fair fight."

"I am not certain of that," she said. "My technique is probably superior, but you have a significant size advantage, and my muscles have atrophied after three years at Earth-normal gravity."

He eyed her, a smile just quirking the corner of his mouth, and deliberately bumped her. "So ... wanna wrestle?"

She stared blandly back at him. Did he really have to ask?

He lowered his voice. "You're not worried about all those keen Vulcan ears out there?"

"No," she said, and removed her top off just to make sure he understood.

He growled low in his throat and pushed her down on the bunk and proceeded to prove just how deliciously masculine he could be.

x x x

Later, as they lay curled tightly in each others' arms – it was the only way to fit on the narrow bunk – he looked down at her with an odd expression, as if she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. "You know, darlin'," he said. "I think this will probably work best if you just keep telling me what you want as plainly as you can. And I'll do my best to make it happen."

T'Pol felt a surge of gratitude so powerful that it left her speechless for a moment. "And you?" she asked, uncomfortably conscious that he seemed to be handing her complete authority over their relationship. "What do you want?"

"Me?" He sighed. "I just don't want to screw this up. So don't let me. Okay?"

"I'll try," she said, and she meant it.

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	7. Home Part V

**Disclaimers,** etc. in Part I.

**Author's Note:** The vise is beginning to tighten, but it's taking awhile for our lovers to realize just how screwed they are. As always, a great big thank you to my reviewers.

* * *

Vulcan was exhausting and confusing and very, very alien.

In the few days since their arrival, Trip had learned to drink as much water as he could, even though it was unpleasantly warm even out of the tap, and Vulcans saw no logic in making or using ice. But he must either drink steadily or develop a brutal headache.

He'd learned not to try to run or climb uphill too fast or do anything strenuous for more than a minute or two, or he'd start wheezing.

He'd learned to stay out of the sun during the afternoon. Phlox's protective hypos were working beautifully to protect his skin and at least theoretically his eyes as well, but even with sunglasses the endless glare would take its toll. Fortunately, the mornings were not too bad. That was when T'Pol took him places. And since they were getting up at the ungodly hour of 4am, they usually had a good head start on the sunrise, especially since this was apparently what passed for winter in this part of Vulcan.

Thank goodness she hadn't invited him here in the summer.

He'd learned that keeping quiet at meals seemed to reduce arguments between mother and daughter, though he found the silence awkward. Without conversation to distract him, he would become hyper-conscious that he must be doing all sorts of things wrong with those odd Vulcan utensils – a kind of connected, springy chopsticks – or the way he drank his broth – thankfully, the spoons were pretty much just spoons – and who knew what else. T'Les would usually eye him for awhile as if she were calculating just how much silence the Human could endure before she would finally start a conversation, asking him about his own family or Starfleet or Human eating habits, though that last topic had shocked her right back into silence.

T'Les was no fool, though. She'd quickly figured out that he and T'Pol were involved. Although she clearly didn't approve, her behavior towards him remained polite. Indeed, she seemed quite grateful – although she did not, of course, say "thank you" – each time he fixed something in the house, which was pretty often.

He wasn't quite sure why she hadn't just gotten her appliances and other broken items repaired. Was she suffering from a lack of funds? Yet the house was beautiful, even luxurious, and quite large for a woman living alone. But she did not offer an explanation, and even on Earth it would be rude to ask about such a thing. He'd asked T'Pol, and she'd said it appeared her mother might be having some difficulty adjusting to her income as a pensioner.

"Isn't she a bit young for retirement?" he'd asked.

"Yes," T'Pol said, but offered no further explanation, and quickly changed the subject.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of that visit from Koss. The man was taller than him and quite sturdy, if perhaps a little soft. Trip had instinctively computed his odds in a fair fight and reached the depressing conclusion that unless this guy was a total wuss, he was screwed. He couldn't even climb a flight of stairs on this planet without feeling woozy. Meanwhile, the native strength of Vulcans was legendary.

It didn't help that T'Pol had been preoccupied ever since the man's visit. He might have worried just a little bit that she'd suddenly taken an interest in her old fiancé after all, except that she'd made it pretty clear that wasn't the case by coming into his bedroom that night as he slept. Between the exhaustion of simply being on Vulcan and the fact that he had to get up at 4am, he usually passed out pretty early, so he had no idea what time it was when she'd slipped under the covers and wrapped her arms around him. He'd been too out of it to do much more than grunt and hug her close before he was out again.

The next morning when he woke she greeted him with a very demanding kiss.

"What about your mom?" he whispered.

"She already knows about us."

"Okay, but we're under her roof … if she doesn't approve…"

"I do not require her approval," she said fiercely.

Their lovemaking was quiet and extremely slow and steady – it had to be, or Trip would start wheezing. Oddly enough, the frustration of maintaining a slow pace ultimately gave way to a truly euphoric, even mystical sense of satisfaction in the end.

Perhaps they should try that more often.

It would be easier as time went along, no doubt. Up to now, at least for him, their encounters had often had a kind of desperate edge, fueled by uncertainty that they would ever occur again. But this was looking a little more definite now. After all, she'd made love to him in her mother's house.

Surely that meant something.

x x x

T'Pol put it bluntly: "I cannot marry your son because I have already taken a mate."

Kotok looked slightly amused. "Ah, yes, your Human lover. T'Pol, you appear to be quite shockingly sentimental for a former intelligence agent. Do you really think that matters in the slightest?"

He had not risen from his desk in the Security Ministry when she arrived, merely casually gesturing for her to take the seat in front of him. She had remained standing. Now she said, "I don't understand."

"Not every marriage on Vulcan results in a mystical union of lovesick katras. Why do you think parents choose for their children? _Logic is the cement of our civilization with which we ascend from chaos using reason as our guide._"

"I see no logic in turning away from a deeply satisfying bond with one man to marry another."

"You don't see any inherent value in respecting the requirements of your own biology … or your society's customs and traditions?"

"Of course I do. But not enough to change my decision in this circumstance."

"Then you disavow any responsibility for your mother's well-being?"

"I am quite willing and able to support her financially if necessary, especially if I remain with Starfleet."

Kotok frowned. "And your mother agreed to this?"

"I have not suggested it yet." T'Pol began to pace. It was somewhat unseemly of her, but she had to burn off her anger and nervous energy somehow or she might truly lose control. "I do not expect her to welcome the idea."

"Indeed. You would lower her position even further by supporting her with your notorious income from another planet's employ. But with a formal alliance between our families, I can get your mother reinstated to the academy."

"What is the point of that, if the system is so dysfunctional that she could be dismissed again at whim?"

"You underestimate my influence."

She stopped her pacing and planted herself squarely in front of him. "If it is _that_ profound, why require this marriage to affect the outcome? Indeed, how do I know it was not you who got my mother dismissed?"

Kotok's eyebrow rose. "An intriguing hypothesis, but quite untrue. Your father was my most valued friend and colleague, but only a marriage alliance provides sufficient grounds for me to insist on your mother's reinstatement. We need people such as your mother in positions of influence right now. You have been away from Vulcan a long time. There are forces at work that are causing great concern for many of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I am hardly going to discuss the matter in detail with a person in the employ of a foreign power. Suffice it to say that this dalliance of yours is not helping the situation between our respective governments. "

"Neither did the High Command's refusal to support Earth against the Xindi."

"Indeed. I fear it would not take much, now, to destroy our alliance."

T'Pol stared at him. "Strategic considerations aside, why would you wish your son to marry a woman who so clearly does not want him?"

"As it happens, that is exactly how my wife sees the matter. However, my son retains an incomprehensible fascination for you. I suspect that, having chosen a rather sedate profession for himself, he is attracted to your rebellious nature. But he will do as we ask. He is a dutiful son."

"You must know that I suffer from Pan'ar Syndrome."

"Of course."

She began to pace again. "I also suffered permanent damage to my emotional control due to my exposure to Trellium-D in the Expanse. I am not fit to be a proper Vulcan wife."

"I have found that even Humans can assume the appearance of emotional control when required. I am also perhaps a bit less sanguine about our people's claims to emotional control than you are." He stood up and approached her, lowering his voice. "Events are unfolding quickly here, T'Pol. If this arrangement does not satisfy you, I am sure adjustments can be made once your mother's situation has been sufficiently secured."

"But surely Koss will soon require his wife's…" She turned away to hide the revulsion she did not think she could keep from her face. "…assistance."

"Koss is 65 years old. Do you think he has not had to seek 'assistance' before now? He has availed himself of other options three times already."

She turned back, shocked. "Why did I not know of this?"

"The first time, you were on a sensitive intelligence mission. The second, you were in deep space aboard the _Seleya_. The third, you were in the Delphic Expanse. We certainly did our best to secure your presence before this last time. Do you think my son appreciates watching his peers marry and have children while he waits for you to finally return home? He has been most patient. Indeed, we explored other options for him after your last refusal, but he preferred to wait. That works in our favor now, because this marriage is important for _many_ reasons."

She turned away from him. "You can hardly expect me to see it that way."

He walked up behind her and murmured, "If you are truly as bonded to this Human as you believe, he will remain yours no matter who you marry. But you may find that any bond you imagine has formed between you and Commander Tucker will be just as fleeting as most Human bonds are. At best, it cannot outlast his short Human lifespan."

"My own lifespan is unlikely to be much longer, given my condition."

"I would not assume that if I were you," Kotok said. "But I cannot say more about that at present. If you care about your mother at all, you must marry my son. If you care about the welfare of our people at all, you must marry my son. If you care about our alliance with Earth, you must marry my son. There is no other honorable option. Do not make the mistake of thinking you are responsible only to yourself. There is far more at stake. I should think that after your performance in the Delphic Expanse, you would be quite used to that idea. Indeed, even your erstwhile Commander Tucker should be capable of understanding the concept of a necessary sacrifice."

T'Pol stood, her fists balled, frustrated beyond measure. Kotok had demolished all of her arguments. What was left, other than a childish insistence on pleasing herself?

"Consider what I have said," Kotok said. "And then let me know your decision."

"You don't understand," she said. Desperation forced her to confess the truth. "I cannot bear to be away from him."

He regarded her calmly. "Perhaps we can achieve a workable compromise."

_To be continued…_


	8. Home Part VI

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Part I.

**Author's Note:** Yup, we're well past the gates and into the Kingdom of Angst now. (Sorry.) And my deepest thanks, reviewers.

* * *

He couldn't breathe. He collapsed to his hands and knees, desperately wheezing, trying to catch his breath.

He'd walked too fast, heading back towards the entrance at a near-run, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between them, but it had been an incline and he'd pushed himself too hard and now he was going to pass out in a goddamned Vulcan tourist park.

Suddenly there was a mask fit over his face, and blessed oxygen streamed into his lungs. Gratefully, he took deep breaths.

Oh, dear oxygen. Dear dependable oxygen. Why had he forsaken it to visit this awful planet?

He realized, suddenly, that there were tourists watching him where he had collapsed on the hot pavement of the walkway, and that the person who had placed the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose was in fact T'Pol, and that she was all but draped over him, caressing his back reassuringly. This perhaps explained why many of the Vulcans who were staring at them had their mouths hanging open.

"I'm okay," he said, pulling away from her.

"Keep it," she said, holding the mask out. "I should not have told you something of such import in such an inappropriate setting."

"What would have been more appropriate?" He spit the words out. "The car? Your mother's house? Our _bed_?"

Had she already known this last night, when she had clung to him so tightly? But she must have. Those "negotiations" could hardly have taken place between their rising at 4am and this sight-seeing trip.

"I'm sorry," she said. Apparently it was her new refrain.

An older Vulcan man approached them. "Do you require further assistance?" he asked.

"No," he and T'Pol said together, and he rose to his feet – taking another deep breath from the mask he was now holding himself. "I'm fine," he told the man. "Just a little short of breath. Sorry to make a scene."

The man told T'Pol, "You can return the equipment at the gate. I'm afraid this often happens to our visitors from Earth." He turned to Trip and solemnly raised his hand in the ta'al. "Live long and prosper."

"Peace and long life," Trip said, wearily returning the gesture. He turned and headed back up the path towards the entrance and the ground car they had rented. He wanted his own planet, where most people were content with a simple hello or goodbye, and he could walk and breathe without thinking twice about it.

"Where are you going?" she asked, following behind him. Not that he could exactly leave her behind yet. It was her rental.

"I need to go to the embassy," he said. "I need to find a way home."

"You don't understand, Trip. That's not necessary."

"What don't I understand? You just told me you're marrying Koss. That seems pretty damned straightforward to me."

"It's a marriage of convenience. Koss's parents agreed I can return to _Enterprise _… with _you_."

He stopped and stared at her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I told them that I do not wish to be parted from you. This marriage … it's for my mother. So she can have her position back. It's not…"

"And Koss is okay with that?"

"Koss will do as his parents wish."

Perhaps he just plain _forgot _to breathe, because suddenly he had to take another puff of oxygen. He saw a bench and headed for it, then sank down onto it. She sat next to him – too close. He inched away and said, "I don't know what you think you're doing, but marrying someone else is the ultimate deal-breaker as far as I'm concerned."

She went quite pale, but said nothing.

"You want to marry him, fine. You marry him. But that's the end of us. Tuckers don't mess with other mens' wives. I don't care if it's a sham marriage or a weird-ass Denobulan marriage, or whatever the hell other kind of marriage you want to come up with."

She said, "I don't _want_ to marry him. I _have_ to marry him. It would most likely only be for a year or two. And I would be with you, not him."

He just shook his head. "You wouldn't be with _me_. I want no part of this."

"Trip, I have no choice."

Did she really expect him to believe that? "Neither do I."

x x x

On their strained, silent way back to ShiKahr, he began to wonder if somehow this was at least partially his fault. What if he had insisted on talking about what their relationship meant before they left _Enterprise_ – what if he had sealed the deal while he still had the chance? Not that it had really occurred to him how desperately he _did_ want that until now, when it was no longer an option.

Or was it? "Look. T'Pol. Is there anything I can do or say that will prevent this?"

She said nothing. She looked as ill as Trip felt.

"What if I married you?" he said. "Would _that_ get you out of this?"

Her eyes filled, and he felt a sympathetic twist in his gut, though not enough of one to untie the cold hard knot that had taken up residence there. She said, "That would bring shame on my mother and damage an already fragile alliance between Earth and Vulcan. It would also, obviously, mean that we could no longer serve together."

"We could go find a colony, someplace neutral…"

"And do what?"

"I don't know," he said. "We'd have to figure something out."

She shook her head. "You don't really want that."

He was silent. She was right. He didn't really want to dissolve his ties to Starfleet or Earth. Especially not for someone who could even contemplate doing to him what she was currently doing to him.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

The logical path was always going to win out with her, right from the beginning. He had known that, and yet he had let himself get to this point. This trip to Vulcan was ridiculous. Their whole relationship was ridiculous. _He_ was ridiculous.

"So am I," he said.

x x x

He could get passage back to Earth on a Vulcan shuttle, but it would take all his transportation credits and more. He could get relatively cheap passage on an Earth freighter, but the trip back would take over a month. Or he could hitch a free ride on a Starfleet vessel that would get home much sooner, but it wasn't departing for another three days.

"You can put me to work in the engine room," he said. "Right now, if you'd like."

"The ship hasn't even arrived yet, Commander," the Starfleet Operations officer explained. She was a calm, matronly sort of woman, which he found soothing. "The earliest you can board is Saturday morning. Why not see more of Vulcan while you can?"

"You would not believe how tired I am of this planet," Trip said. "They had to give me oxygen today."

The woman chuckled. "Believe it or not, you do adjust to it after awhile. I've booked you in. We'll see you at the shuttle to space dock Saturday at 0800 hours."

"How about accommodations?" he said. "Are there any available? I think I've overstayed my welcome with my current host."

"We do have Starfleet lodging on the grounds," she said. "Nothing private at this time, I'm afraid, but if you don't mind bunking with an ensign or two, we'll find you a bed in officer's country. Just show up, and we'll get you sorted."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll be back later."

x x x

He told T'Pol about the arrangements he'd made – she had waited in the car – and back at T'les's house, he went to pack up his bags.

All the way home from the Embassy T'Pol had said nothing, and neither had he. As soon as they arrived at the house she disappeared. She was obviously distressed, but he couldn't exactly feel sorry about that. What the hell had she expected?

It was T'Les who came to his door and said, "There's an Admiral Forrest asking for you."

Shit. He'd wondered if he might get chewed out by Jon for not telling him where he was going. But Forrest?

He followed T'Les to the monitor. "Admiral?" he said. T'Les walked away, but with those Vulcan ears, who knew what she might hear. "Is everything all right?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Commander?"

On any other day, Trip might be unnerved by the admiral's obvious anger. Today, Forrest represented the least of his troubles. "Sir?"

"You're at T'Pol's house? And you shared a _cabin_ with her?"

"I was on leave and she invited me to visit Vulcan. It was a lot cheaper to share a cabin."

Forrest scowled. "Do you have any idea how this looks? There are suggestions all over the media that _Enterprise's_ second and third officers have embarked on an interplanetary romance."

Trip stared stonily back at him. "The suggestions are wrong, sir." They were _now,_ anyway.

"Then what the hell are you doing there?"

"Sightseeing," he said flatly. "We saw the Fire Plains today. And as it happens, I'm heading home on the next Starfleet ship available. I've never been one for deserts, sir, and I've had more than enough of this one."

"I have what looks like a pretty sound intelligence report that she has been treating you as her husband."

"I don't think that can be an accurate report, sir." He stuck his tongue in his cheek and made a quick calculation. T'Pol hadn't authorized him to make any announcements, but surely a wedding was a matter of public record, even on Vulcan. "She's getting married in just a few days, and not to me."

"_What?_"

"His name is Koss," Trip said. "He's an architect. They've been betrothed since they were children."

"Why didn't we know about this?"

"Vulcans keep these things pretty private."

Forrest scowled. "Does that mean she's not coming back?"

Did it? Trip suddenly felt knocked off balance in a brand new way. He probably ought to be relieved at the idea, but his gut was telling him something quite different. "You'd have to ask her that, sir."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Tell her I want her to call me,"

"Yes, sir."

"I guess this situation is salvageable after all. You can represent Starfleet at the wedding. At least that should quiet all these rumors."

"Admiral, I've already made arrangements to head home _before_ then."

"Then change them."

"Sir," Trip pleaded. "_Please _don't make me do that."

"Damn it, Trip!" Forrest said. "How is it Jon didn't even know you were there?"

"It was kind of a last-minute decision to go."

"You need to think harder about the possible consequences of your actions, Commander! I don't care if you're on leave or not. You're an officer, and that means you represent Starfleet and Earth. This could have become a significant diplomatic incident. Fortunately, you've also presented us with the perfect way out. I'll have someone from the Embassy contact you about the proper protocols."

"Sir," Trip said, defeated.

He sat there, slumped, too appalled even to move.

T'Les returned. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

He shook his head wordlessly. He'd forgotten to drink enough water and his head was pounding, but that seemed appropriate somehow.

"T'Pol told me you were leaving," she said. "I am sorry to hear that."

"Actually, the admiral just insisted that I stay long enough to represent Starfleet at the wedding."

She raised an eyebrow. "_Starfleet_ is not invited to the wedding, but _you_ are welcome to stay. It is customary for both the bride and groom to have their closest friends present, and you are clearly that for T'Pol."

That thought choked him up so badly he couldn't even speak. He ducked his head to hide his feelings.

T'Les withdrew, perhaps tactfully, and he sat there and tried to get a handle on himself. What now? If he had to be here for the wedding, there was little point in dealing with the hassle of getting transport to and from the embassy. He should go back to the guest room and unpack. But instead he just sat there, breathing in and breathing out, and felt a great and vast emptiness open up inside him, dry and dusty and hopeless.

Eventually T'Les returned. "Do you have any idea where she is?" she asked.

He shook his head, then remembered that Vulcans didn't really shake their heads and managed to articulate, "No." _Get a hold of yourself, Tucker_. "Admiral Forrest would like him to call her."

"Well, if you can find her, you can deliver your admiral's message."

So he got up and walked back through the house, but found no sign of her. She was not in the back garden, or the front courtyard. His gut clenched in anxiety, even as he tried to tell himself that where she was shouldn't matter in the slightest to him now. "She's not here," he told T'Les.

She pursed her lips. "Perhaps she felt the need for a walk," she said, and Trip looked out at the hot afternoon sun and thought_, "Now?"_

He went back to his room and sat on the bed. She knew he could not go after her in this heat. Did T'Pol perhaps think that disappearing would keep him from leaving? Or did she just want to avoid watching him go?

If so, the joke was on her.

She did not return home in time for dinner. T'Les served it at the usual time, and he tried to force himself to eat, but he could not. His head was still aching and he had no appetite. Neither did TLes, he noticed. "Where would she go?" he asked. "Should we try to find her?" If _Enterprise_ were in orbit, he'd hail them and ask for a scan. But Starfleet didn't have a single ship in orbit right now.

T'Les said, "That might be difficult." She looked outside, where night was beginning to fall. "I will inform the authorities."

"The _authorities_?" That seemed a bit extreme.

"It is not safe to walk the local deserts at night without proper defenses," she said. "There are dangerous predators. Perhaps she has been away so long that she has forgotten this." She gave him a little glare, and went to the monitor.

x x x

Time passed. Trip would normally have been asleep by now, but instead he sat opposite T'Les in the living room and waited.

"T'Pol always suffered disappointments more profoundly than most other Vulcans," T'Les said. "I thought perhaps it was because she lost her father at a difficult time in her development. But her emotions are far more blatant now than they ever were before."

"The Expanse was difficult for her," Trip said. "It was difficult for all of us."

"Is that how you came to be involved?"

"Maybe. The doctor asked her to give me neuro-pressure. I wasn't sleeping well because I kept having nightmares. My sister had died in the Xindi attack …" He sighed. "T'Pol helped me. We … got closer."

"She should not have agreed to that. Neuro-pressure is hardly an appropriate activity to share with a stranger."

"I was not a _stranger_. We had already worked closely together for two years. We were friends. We always had each other's backs." T'Les straightened in offense, so he hastened to explain. "That just means we depended on each other. It's _dangerous_ out there. And lonely. Especially for her, I think. She was the only Vulcan on board. Plus she was a senior officer. So the captain and I were really the only people she could socialize with."

"She had no business staying so long on an alien ship."

"She knew we needed her," Trip said. "I think she likes to feel needed."

And this was, perhaps, exactly what he had taken away from her today.

About twenty minutes later was a knock at the door at last, and two Vulcan patrol officers escorted a dusty, dull-eyed T'Pol into the house. "We found her walking a significant distance outside the city walls," one of them told T'Les. "She appeared to be somewhat ill, so we took her to the hospital first. She has been medicated," the man said, and handed over a packet of information. "The healer recommends sleep and…" The man coughed uncomfortably. "Observation. He said he will visit her tomorrow afternoon."

"We will await him," T'les said gravely, and the men left.

T'Pol stood there, swaying slightly, then honed in on Trip. "You're still here," she said.

"Turns out I'm not going to the embassy after all," he said. "Admiral Forrest wants me to stay for the wedding." He didn't pass along the message about her calling the admiral. Clearly, that could wait.

She regarded him for a long moment. "And will that still be the end of us?"

He understood now that he must not extinguish all her hope, though he also could not bring himself to lie. He swallowed hard over the sudden lump in his throat and said, "I hope I will always be your friend, T'Pol."

She blinked and looked away, clearly affected, though he wasn't sure how. He hoped he'd offered her enough, for he could do no more. Not if she was really going to marry Koss, which all the forces in the universe now seemed to be lining up to ensure.

"Come, T'Pol," her mother said softly, and led her off.

* * *

_**To be continued** (though I did poll readers on whether a chapter was needed when this first went up)  
_


	9. Home Conclusion

**Disclaimers **in Part I

**Author's Note:** All right, here you go with a conclusion, as requested by most of the reviewers. I introduce a new POV character here (eventually), perhaps because the angst would be just unbearable if I had to get through that wedding day with Trip or T'Pol. Many thanks as always, kind reviewers, and also to Zero Credibility and Panyasan for some helpful edits on this one. After this, we return to one-shots until we get to Vulcan again.

* * *

T'Pol lay flat on her back in her childhood bed, her hands folded together as her father's had been for his burial, her eyes shut, her body heavy with sedative. No doubt the drug was supposed to make her sleep. Instead it had essentially immobilized her, but even now, as its effects began to lift, she stubbornly resisted making any movement. She was quite comfortable in her immobility. It saved her from having to make explanations.

Unfortunately, she _was_ conscious, and with nothing else to occupy her, she kept cycling through the same unpleasant thoughts in a terrible, never-ending loop.

There were Kotok's words: "If you are truly as bonded to this Human as you believe, he will remain yours no matter who you marry."

Then there was Trip's insistence that he would _not_ remain hers if she married Koss – which, inescapably, meant that Trip felt he had a choice in the matter.

At first, she had assumed this meant that however affectionate he might have been towards her – she could not forget that he had offered marriage, if only as a way out of their current predicament – he was not bonded to her_. _

He could walk away. He _was_ walking away.

And that idea had been so devastating that she had struck out into the desert quite blindly the day before, instinctively seeking oblivion.

But as she lay there in her faux death, a new thought worked its way into that endless loop of despair: What if Trip simply didn't _realize_ he was bonded to her?

This first occurred to her when he replaced her mother in her bedroom. She heard their murmured conversation – he invited T'Les to go eat the breakfast he had prepared and get some sleep – and then she could smell him there in the room with her, and hear his sighs and rustlings.

After what might have been a long time, or perhaps not long at all – the sedative was likely affecting her perception – she said, "Are you uncomfortable?"

His breath caught. "You're awake?"

"I am." However, she still didn't open her eyes or move.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"You should eat."

"I'm not hungry."

There was a long silence, and then he said, "So, what is this? Some sort of death wish?"

She opened her eyes at last and looked over at him in the thin early morning light. He was sitting nearby, leaning against her wall with his arms folded and his legs stretched out, watching her. He could have left for the embassy by now, even if Forrest was making him return for the wedding. He could have sat in the chair across the room, at the desk, or on her meditation cushion, also across the room. Instead he had sat on the floor, close to her low Vulcan bed. "Perhaps," she said.

"That's not very logical of you."

She had no reply to something so self-evident.

He left the wall and kneeled in front of her low bed. "You know, if the thought of marrying someone makes you so miserable you'd rather die, that's a pretty good clue that you shouldn't marry him."

"It was not the thought of marrying Koss that made me want to die. It was the thought of losing you."

He sucked in a breath. "Another good reason not to marry him, then."

"Yes, it would be, if I had any choice in the matter." She closed her eyes and returned to her death pose.

He sighed angrily.

She said, "I know you can't fully understand, but I must do this to maintain the honor of my family. And there may also be more at stake. Koss's father advised me that indulging my own desires now could help to destroy the alliance between Earth and Vulcan."

"T'Pol, I would be sorry to see your mother hurt … although, frankly, I think she's a big girl and she could handle it. But Kotok likely has an agenda of his own, which includes getting his son married. And I'll be damned if I'd be willing to ruin my life over an alliance that meant so little when _Earth _was under attack."

The temptation to engage with him was, as usual, too strong; she gave up her pose and turned on her side to face him. "This alliance may yet prove vital to both our worlds."

"Maybe an alliance that isn't really an alliance isn't worth keeping."

T'Pol reached a hand out and threaded it through the hair on his head. His breath hitched, and he didn't pull away. Neither did he approach. "Have you slept at all?" she asked.

"I don't think so."

She patted the bed next to her.

"Can't do that," he said.

"It's just sleep."

"I'm supposed to be _watching_ you."

"I won't go anywhere. I promise." She could feel him weakening, at least partly because he was obviously exhausted. She moved herself back to make more room. "Lie down."

He didn't move. "Forrest wants to know if you're coming back. I mean, going back. To _Enterprise_."

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes," Trip said, without hesitation. "I don't want to be out there without you. We still need you as much as we ever have. But you and I can't continue like this if you come back a married woman. It wouldn't be fair to your husband, or to me. So there'd be no sex, no sleeping together, no neuro-pressure, nothing like that. We'd just be friends. Like we were before. I guess that's better than nothing."

"I'm not married yet," she said. "Lie down."

He shook his head.

"I promise I won't molest you, Trip. It's obvious that you're exhausted. Lie down."

He just stared at her, blinking tiredly.

She patted the bed next to her again, insistently, and after a moment, he gave in and crawled up into it, stretching out with a sigh.

"Sleep," she said, and lay on her side and watched him as his eyelids drooped. He had such lovely eyelashes. She wanted to savor this last intimacy, however reluctantly bestowed, but as his breaths evened out they pulled her under with them. Sleep – _real _sleep – claimed her at last.

x x x

When the healer arrived, T'Les asked him to wait in the living room while she went to let Commander Tucker know he should take a break from his watch duty.

When she opened the bedroom door, however, she found that Tucker was lying curled up next to her daughter, who had finally relaxed into a true sleep of her own, her arm outstretched until her hand just brushed his. Neither stirred.

For the first time, T'Les wondered whether she and Kotok had done the right thing in pushing towards this fulfillment of their plans.

All the excellent reasons for it still stood, of course.

But how could she dismiss the evidence in front of her own eyes? These two had chosen each other.

And although this Human was an extremely illogical choice, it was clear that her daughter felt deeply connected to him, and that the connection appeared to be mutual, however tragically short-lived it must necessarily be. Even if Tucker was capable of a true mate-bond, his lifespan would be much shorter than T'Pol's.

Then again, one never knew when tragedy might strike. Once, long ago, she and her own husband had slept together thus.

She softly closed the bedroom door and returned to the healer. "Do you know anything about mating bonds, or their disruption?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It was a simple question."

The healer grimaced. "Mating bonds – assuming they even exist – are not quantifiable phenomena. Therefore, they do not warrant serious study."

"I see," T'Les said. This was, of course, the official position of the Vulcan Science Academy. A narrow orthodoxy had gripped Vulcan academia in the last two decades. While the most obvious reason she had been driven from the Science Academy lay with T'Pol's actions on P'Jem, T'Les sometimes wondered if her research into the peculiar DNA mutations she'd found in the remains of some early Vulcans – some of those who had 'marched under the raptor's wings' – might have contributed to her situation. She was not the only scientist pushed out of the academy in recent years. Unlike her, the others had been attempting to investigate ancient _beliefs_ – about mind melds and mating bonds and healing trances, as she recalled – and as far as she knew, none of their near relatives had ever embarrassed the High Command. But they had all been studying the same period of Vulcan history, a chaotic time before Surak's vision of a logical and peaceful Vulcan had finally triumphed. This was a curiosity she hoped to investigate further if Kotok could get her back into the academy, which would give her access to far more resources than she had on her own.

She could only hope this healer would not gossip to anyone about her inquiry. "I apologize, Healer, for wasting your time. My daughter appears to have finally achieved a deep sleep, and after such a difficult night I am loathe to wake her."

"Sleep may well be the best medicine," the man said. "Please call the hospital if you require further assistance. But I strongly recommend not leaving her unsupervised until you are certain she is recovered from her … current difficulty."

"She will be well cared for," T'Les said, and showed him out.

At least for another couple of days she would be well cared for. After _that … _

T'Les began to wonder whether it might be best for T'Pol to return to the Human ship after all.

x x x

Lieutenant Robert Irizarry had joined Starfleet to explore strange new worlds and seek out new civilizations – and also because he could no longer stand teaching English to obnoxious little snots who cared far more about getting in each other's pants than writing complete sentences. Unfortunately, his occasionally prickly temper had proven problematic in his first shipboard post as a communications officer, so Starfleet had shifted him into administration, where his skills in gathering and reporting information had made him useful as part of their media office. He had done so well there that they had promoted him into a position from which he had to actually communicate with the media directly – and not long after that, his career had experienced some setbacks.

How was _he_ to know that accurately reporting exchanges that were a matter of public record between the Vulcan Ambassador, Captain Archer and Sub-Commander T'Pol after the Paragaan Disaster would generate a messy global debate about whether humanity should be in space at all? Besides, if that hadn't riled up all the usual isolationist groups, something else would have. Certainly they'd all been flourishing since the Xindi attack.

And why _shouldn't_ Sub-commander T'Pol's decision to stay with _Enterprise _in the Expanse be publicized? He'd been asked for months to prepare tedious, un-newsworthy releases about her role on the crew - why, when her presence was finally _really_ interesting, should he suddenly keep quiet about it?

It wasn't like he had _no_ judgment. No one had needed to tell him that it was probably best not to release the news that the Chief Engineer of _Enterprise_ had become the first Human male to become pregnant (and from an alien at that), or that Captain Archer had caused a major diplomatic incident by letting his dog pee on an alien tree.

Yet Admiral Black had made it clear that this transfer to Vulcan was Robert's last opportunity to prove himself more useful than he was annoying. Robert rather liked his job and therefore was doing his best to keep his head down and avoid controversy. It helped that Vulcan was not afflicted with a media environment as desperate for the slightest hint of conflict as Earth's. Indeed, Vulcan's reporters mostly seemed interested in Starfleet's occasional scientific releases: a correction to the star charts, the discovery of a black matter nebula, the possibility of evidence of micro-singularities.

The one exception was the woman who had gotten him into the most trouble in the first place. There was a steady appetite from Vulcan reporters for information about T'Pol. This had been especially true while she was away in the Expanse – which was, of course, when he'd had almost nothing to tell them.

But today he should have something.

He had already learned from the news feeds from home that T'Pol and Commander Tucker were widely suspected of engaging in more than just a collegial relationship. The scuttlebutt in Starfleet was that they were, in fact, shagging each other silly. But now it appeared that she was marrying another man – a Vulcan – and Commander Tucker was going to be at the wedding as their guest– so perhaps all those rumors had been wrong, as such rumors often were.

Unfortunately, his boss didn't want to put out anything but the driest of facts. "Ignore the rumors, Robert. Just gather the names, take some pictures of bride and groom – make sure they include Commander Tucker – maybe get a quote or two – and then you're done," she said. "Make NO reference to rumors. Not a peep. And for God's sake, try not to insult anybody."

"They're Vulcans," Robert said. "They don't get insulted."

She glared at him. "_How_ long have you been on this planet?"

"Well, it's not like they can really do anything about it if they _are,_" Robert said. "What are they going to do, raise an eyebrow at me?"

She sighed. She was a lieutenant commander who was younger than him and already in charge of all media relations for the embassy. "Just behave. Okay? I've got scary people breathing down my neck on this one. I'd cover this job myself, but I can't cancel my meeting with Administrator V'Las."

"You don't have to worry about me, Commander." Didn't she think he'd learned his lesson by now?

"I know I don't. Because you're going to run _everything_ you put together by me before you release it."

"Yes, ma'm," he said with a tight smile.

_Bitch._

x x x

When he arrived at T'Pol's residence, an old man and a younger man in blue were in the courtyard hovering over a burning fire pot (how could they stand it?) and muttering in Vulcan low enough that his translator didn't bother with it. They were the officiants, perhaps. Neither looked up as Robert made his way to the front door, where he was eventually admitted by the celebrated Commander Tucker himself.

"Yes?" the man said, sounding a bit harried. He was certainly not dressed for a wedding, clad as he was in a t-shirt and a pair of sweats.

"Lieutenant Irizarry reporting to duty, Commander," Robert said. "The embassy requested that I cover the wedding."

Tucker scowled. "That'll make the admiral happy. They're all still getting ready. Just sit here until T'Les can tell you what's what. I'm still trying to figure out how to get into those damned robes. Why the hell do people on such a hot planet wear so many goddamned layers, can you tell me that?"

"You're not wearing your uniform?"

"No. Apparently that wouldn't be considered proper."

Robert looked down at his own uniform.

Tucker said, "Sorry, buddy, but you're on your own. I'm already way over my head here." He took off down a hall to the left. Robert checked that his camera was functioning and sat down in the living room. He could hear feminine voices down the other hallway.

A knock came at the door.

Robert sat there uncomfortably. Nobody seemed to be interested in answering it.

The knock came again, louder this time.

Tucker yelled out, "Could you please get that, Lieutenant?"

Apparently he wasn't just a media officer, but a doorman. He opened the door to a party of four Vulcans, older and younger, male and female, all quite imposing in their dress robes.

"May we come in?" the older man in the front said, after Robert had gaped at them for a full three seconds.

"Uh, sure," Robert said, and backed away to allow them to enter. Gathering his wits, he introduced himself and explained what he was doing there, and they did the same. He should have recognized Kotok, for he had been briefed on the key participants in this wedding. Kotok, who held a position of authority in the security ministry, was the _most_ key, but the man was so entirely nondescript Robert wasn't sure he'd recognize him again even if he ran into him the next day. His son Koss, the groom, was a bit more memorable, as was his rather pretty sister.

The groom's mother said, "Surely you do not expect to attend this wedding dressed like that?"

"My apologies, ma'am," Robert said. "Apparently I was not sufficiently briefed about Vulcan wedding customs."

"That is quite understandable," Kotok said. "I can't imagine there would be much call for you to attend any." He sat down on one of the living room benches and held out two fingers to signal his wife to join him, which she did, while Koss and his sister continued to stand. "Do not concern yourself, Lieutenant. Your attire will not be out of place _after_ the event. That would be the best time to stage your photography. And no doubt you will want Commander Tucker to wear his Starfleet uniform for the photographs that are intended for release to Earth's media."

That hadn't occurred to Robert, actually. It was a good idea, however.

A middle-aged Vulcan woman bustled in from the back of the house, flashed a rather perfunctory ta'al, and said to the party, "You're early."

"We deemed it preferable to arrive early than to risk arriving late," Kotok said. "You need not concern yourself with us. Please, continue your preparations."

"She is almost ready," T'Les said, with a glance of acknowledgment at the groom, who returned it calmly. Then she turned to Robert, her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Robert Irizarry, ma'am. Starfleet asked me to cover this event and prepare a media release."

T'Les stared coolly at him for a long terrifying moment, before Kotok said, "I think it is an excellent idea to publicize how our alliance with Earth has led to cross-cultural friendships like the Commander's and your daughter's, don't you?"

T'Les's lifted a skeptical eyebrow, but she apparently decided to tolerate Robert's presence for now, since she gestured to a display of glasses on the counter and said, "Please, refresh yourselves. I must return to my daughter."

The Vulcans immediately helped themselves to tiny glasses of water they poured from a tall pitcher, as if T'Les's invitation had made it a requirement. Robert filled his own small glass and downed it in just a gulp.

Kotok said, "Humans need more water than Vulcans, don't they, Lieutenant? You should have more."

"I would be pleased to do so, sir," Robert said gratefully, and drank two more glasses.

After a long silence, during which they all either sat or stood, T'Les came out again. "She is ready. You may assemble in the courtyard. We will be with you momentarily."

"No doubt it would be best for the Lieutenant to wait here," Kotok said. "We can assemble for his photographs afterwards. But I thought Commander Tucker would be joining us?"

T'Les looked with some concern down the other hallway. "Yes, so he said."

"He told me he was having trouble with the robes," Robert volunteered.

"Ah," she said. "Perhaps I had better go assist him."

The room emptied out, with most of the guests departing out the front door into the small courtyard – this was clearly a very intimate wedding – and T'Les heading down the hall towards Tucker. Robert sighed and sat. He should have asked the ever-helpful Kotok how long these things generally took.

He straightened up as a woman he instantly recognized as T'Pol entered from the back of the house – quite lovely in a purple dress that was far more feminine than anything Robert had seen on a Vulcan female before. She was attended by another female, who stared at him. No doubt she was also wondering what he was doing at a wedding dressed like that.

"Lieutenant," T'Pol said, and Robert stood at attention.

"Commander," he said, for the news of her commission was going to be released along with the news of her wedding.

"At ease. I am just T'Pol today. Your name?"

"Robert Irizarry, ma'm."

She gestured at her companion. "This is my cousin, T'Mar. I take it you are here to document my wedding?"

"I am," he said, and blushed, suddenly at a loss. For one thing, T'Pol really was really rather breathtakingly gorgeous. For another, he had no idea what to say. His mother had taught him that he must never congratulate the bride – only the groom – though he couldn't remember why not. He had even less idea what the rules were on Vulcan.

She gazed at him for a moment, until her face turned quite expressionless, and she turned to her attendant. "Let us proceed."

They glided out. Damn it. He should have asked _her_ how long it would take.

Soon, T'Les appeared, trailed by Tucker, quite resplendent in full Vulcan gear. They both appeared so intent on their business that Robert didn't even attempt to ask them how long the ceremony would take. He just sat down and prepared to wait it out, taking a few notes on his padd while he was sidelined.

But there was very little waiting. In less than ten minutes, a gong sounded, and the entire party trooped back into the house.

As was perhaps normal on Vulcan, nobody looked happy - not even a little. In fact, Tucker looked ill, but Robert supposed that could have been the effect of wearing so much clothing out there in the heat. T'Pol did not look much better, however, and the groom was rather sullen-looking, too. T'Les went to her stasis unit and began to pull out dishes. The group watched her silently, until Kotok spoke up. "I believe you need photographs, Lieutenant?" he said. "Would you like me to arrange the wedding party for you?"

"That would be most helpful, sir," Robert said, relieved. He was no wedding photographer, and who knew how many unintentional faux pas he could manage to commit here.

"The first set should be in full Vulcan dress, I believe," Kotok said, and put T'Pol and Koss in the center – they stood an awkward distance from each other – with T'Les, T'Mar, and Tucker on her side, and himself and his family on Koss's side.

Robert checked that no awkward wall art appeared to be growing out of anyone's head, resisted the sudden dark impulse to ask them to say "cheese," and snapped a few shots.

"May I?" Kotok asked, and Robert handed him the camera.

"These are acceptable," Kotok said. "Commander Tucker, your expression is so blank you could pass for Vulcan – if it were not for those ears, anyway."

Tucker said nothing.

Kotok frowned. "If you would change into your uniform, now, Commander, we could arrange the appropriate photography for Earth."

Tucker left silently. The bride stared plaintively after him. The rest of the party pretended not to notice. And Robert thrilled with a sudden suspicion: Was it possible the rumors were true after all?

But if that was so, what the hell was going on here?

Tucker returned in uniform in fairly short order, and Kotok arranged another shot. This time he literally pushed T'Pol and Koss closer together, until they were almost touching – then placed Tucker at T'Pol's side and his daughter at Koss's side. With hand signals, he suggested that Koss raise his fingers as he had done earlier with his wife. T'Pol, grim-faced, raised her fingers to meet her husband's, and Robert finished shooting what he suspected must be one of the least joyful sets of wedding photos of all time.

Kotok said, "Commander Tucker, this photograph is for an Earth audience. You _can_ smile, if you wish."

"I never smile in official photographs," Tucker said.

"I see," Kotok said. "Well, I believe that covers it, then. What have you prepared for us, T'Les?"

The group turned and focused on the lady of the house. Tucker helped himself to three glasses of water and then walked over to Robert. "You're heading back to the embassy after this?"

"Yes sir."

"Can I hitch a ride?"

"Of course." Robert took out his padd. "Any chance you could give me a quote for my story?"

Tucker grimaced. "I guess. How about: Speaking on behalf of the entire crew of _Enterprise_, I am pleased to wish T'Pol and Koss every happiness? How's that?"

"Sounds good to me, sir. My CO will no doubt edit it if she feels the need."

Tucker smiled grimly and watched as the Vulcans began to pass plates and eating utensils to each other. There was not enough seating for the whole group. T'Pol and Koss sat on one bench, and Kotok and his wife took the other. The others stood and ate off their small plates.

"Hungry?" Tucker said to him.

"No sir." Robert was no fan of Vulcan cuisine. He also doubted he was coordinated enough to use those weird utensils while standing and holding a plate as well.

"What's the word on _Discovery's _chef?" Tucker asked.

"Top of the line. That's the ship the top brass use when they go back and forth."

"Oh. Anyone I should watch out for?"

"Nobody I know about, sir. Of course, _they're_ the ones you should really watch out for."

Tucker snickered. T'Les beckoned them over and offered them food, which they declined politely, although they each helped themselves to more water. T'Les finally prepared a plate for herself and took up a position standing between the two benches, eating and watching her daughter and her new husband.

Tucker turned and watched T'Pol, whose eyes were downcast as she moved food around her small plate without ever seeming to actually eat any.

As the others cleared their plates, they rose and stacked them on the kitchen counter, then gathered in their family group. Koss rose to join his family, while T'Pol stayed put.

"Keep us updated on your travel arrangements, T'Pol," Kotok said.

"As you wish," she said.

And then the whole family began to depart – including Koss. Robert was so surprised at this development that it took him a moment to realize he hadn't yet conducted any interviews. He followed the group out into the courtyard a little breathlessly. "Excuse me, but would you care to make any comments?"

"Ah," Kotok said. "Yes, of course." He turned to his son. "Koss? Would you like to say anything?"

Koss stared at his father for a moment. "No."

Kotok colored just slightly. "Mmm. Let me think a moment. Ah, yes: Sur'mir and I" – it was difficult not to notice the lady's frown – "note with great satisfaction the culmination of a betrothal contracted between two families long linked together by mutual cooperation and respect. In particular, today, we honor the memory of the bride's father, a most valued colleague. How is that?"

"Perfect, sir," Robert said, checking that his padd had transcribed the message correctly.

"Excellent," Kotok said. "Live long and prosper, Lieutenant."

Robert returned the appropriate salute, and watched as the family departed. The officiants had already disappeared. They certainly handled these matters efficiently. But what kind of wedding ended with the groom heading off without the bride?

Glad to get out of the heat, he returned to the house. "Do you wish to say anything on the occasion, my lady?" he asked T'Les.

"I think not," T'Les said, and continued busying herself in the kitchen.

"Well," Tucker said. "I'd better get my bags."

T'Pol stood suddenly, abandoning her dish on the table, and went down the hall after him.

T'Les watched her go, frowning slightly, but turned back to her work in the kitchen.

_This_ is rather awkward, Robert thought, and stood waiting.

A few minutes later, Tucker emerged with his bags, his face quite pale and his eyes bloodshot with what could only be tears, although he was managing to keep them contained. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said to T'Les in a choked voice.

T'Les dried her hands and came out from behind the counter. "I am glad to have met you, Commander. You have been a true friend to my daughter, and most generous to me. May you live long and prosper."

Tucker managed to get out, "Peace and long life," and bolted for the door. Robert hurriedly exchanged the ta'al with T'Les and headed out after him, catching up only outside the gate.

"Which way?" Tucker asked, sounding more than a little desperate.

"Just follow me," Robert said.

Five hot and breathless minutes later, they arrived at the lot where local residents left their vehicles. Robert had already started his car remotely; it was the only way to cool it to a survivable temperature before they arrived.

Tucker stowed his bags and sat in the passenger seat, silent.

"Are you all right?" Robert asked.

Tucker didn't look at him. "Please just drive, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir." He drove. He felt bad for Tucker. This hero of the Expanse, a man who had already lost a sister to the Xindi attack, was clearly reeling from a powerful emotional blow.

Life was not fair. Robert knew this all too well. After all, here he was, sitting on the biggest scoop of his career, and he wasn't going to be able to say a damned thing about it.

At least, not officially.

THE END


	10. Borderland

**SPOILERS:** "Borderland" and "Home," etc., and it may make little sense without them.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Borderland" was written by Ken LaZebnik.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I personally find the augments arc pretty damned tedious, so I'm happily ignoring the augments themselves for this entry. Indeed, you could argue I'm ignoring all the rules of good short story construction as well, but whatever. Thanks as always to my kind reviewers (and even my snarky ones – I appreciate hearing criticism, too). Thanks also to you eagle-eyed editors out there. Note that if you log in when you review – which gives me a reply link – I will reply to you personally.

* * *

Yeah, he knew there was no such thing as a honeymoon on Vulcan – at least not for T'Pol and Koss. His question was just his way of showing her the fence line. For better or worse, she was married now, which put her squarely on the other side of it.

What did she expect? That he would settle for some sort of undefined continuing relationship – one that would entail committing emotional adultery, if not something more outright – while she maintained her façade of Vulcan duty?

So, okay, maybe that _was _what she expected. Maybe, deep down, she still thought humans were oversexed baboons who would take what they could get. Maybe she still, deep down, thought _he_ was an oversexed baboon who would take what he could get. Hell, by Vulcan standards, he probably was. And even by human standards, he knew plenty of guys who were.

But not him. Not with her.

Didn't she think he had any self-respect? Why should he be content with someone who had chosen someone else? He knew it wasn't really her own preference, but neither had they held a gun to her head. He'd even offered to marry her. And she'd made her choice.

That was what he wanted to say to her. Sometimes, after he'd had to brush her off again, he imagined screaming it at her in full-throated rage: _You made your bed, now lie in it!_ But he didn't say it. First of all, he couldn't forget how desperate she had been, walking out into that desert that terrible day.

Second, what would be the point? She just didn't get it.

That was all he could figure from the way she kept trying to engage him. In the last two days he'd had to walk away from five separate conversations she'd initiated, and that wasn't even counting the ones that had been cut short by explosions or Captain Archer.

His mom got it. She had taken one look at him when he got home, and said, "Oh honey," and given him a big hug. Then she'd waited until he was ready to talk about it, which wasn't until the night before he left.

"Poor T'Pol," she said. "Of course, you never know how things might turn out in the end." Trip hadn't been sure exactly what she meant by that. Did she mean to encourage him that he might end up with T'Pol after all? (Sometimes, in the middle of the night, it was damnably hard to completely ignore that niggling little thought, even though he knew he should.)

But probably his mom just meant that he would be better off without T'Pol. Which was true. He'd even made a list:

Reason #1: It would make things a lot less uncomfortable professionally. Now he could just focus on his job again. Not to mention they could both _keep_ their jobs, which would have gotten pretty difficult otherwise.

Reason #2: It increased the chances of having a Charles Tucker IV, or any child, someday. Yes, so they'd met Lorian. But who knew if they would ever be able to replicate what Phlox had done in the other timeline, when he didn't have anything else to compete for his attention?

Reason #3: If they did marry, Trip was going to get old and decrepit and ultimately die long before she did, which would have been difficult for her, and depressing for him.

Reason #4: Now there would never be any question of living on Vulcan, which had been terribly uncomfortable for him even before he learned to associate it with misery.

Reason #5: She'd married the other guy.

Reason #6: She'd married the other guy.

Reason #7: She'd married the other guy.

And no self-respecting man could ever forget that.

He knew the captain got it – once he'd gotten over being royally pissed, mostly because Forrest had berated him for letting his ship turn into some sort of orgiastic pleasure cruise for undisciplined senior officers. "I hope you realize that if she _hadn't _gotten married, one or both of you probably wouldn't be back on board right now," he'd growled. "And that was a damnable position for you to put me in, Trip."

"Sorry, Cap'n," Trip said. "It wasn't anything I set out to do."

Jon had just stared at him, clearly unimpressed.

Trip had tried to explain. "I know it wasn't ideal professional behavior, even if the technicalities were a little fuzzy at the time. I have to assume she knows that, too. It just happened. It was like some sort of irresistible force. Maybe it was that Trellium-D exposure she took. She says she's probably always going to have some difficulties with her emotions now. Hell, even you noticed she wasn't exactly in full control in the Expanse."

"_Even_ I?"

It was a good thing, Trip reflected, that he had never tried to go into diplomacy. "Hey, you had the weight of the world on you out there, Cap'n. You were pretty much keeping your distance from the rest of us mortals. Which was completely understandable, sir." Even if it had felt pretty awful at the time.

Archer's face had turned hard. "Are you by any chance trying to blame _me_ for you nailing my first officer?"

"No, sir. Not at all."

He watched the captain frown and take a deep cleansing breath. Thankfully, Jonathan Archer wasn't one to hold a grudge, especially when it would get in the way of doing his job. "Do you have any idea what her current prognosis is?"

"_Prognosis_?" Trip said, startled.

Archer gave him a very odd look, then, and changed the subject quickly. "What do you think of the work on the upgrades?"

Trip told him, all the time thinking: _Prognosis?_ What the hell was that about? He even made a mental note to ask T'Pol about it, before he realized it was no longer any of his business.

Reason #8: He wouldn't have to worry about her anymore.

Trip sighed. Someday, he might even talk himself into believing that. Right now, though, he knew it wasn't true and probably never would be. Hadn't he promised to remain her friend? Hadn't it become obvious, while she was in Orion hands, that the thought of losing her existence somewhere in his life, however distant, still terrified him?

Even at his most depressed, Trip would comfort himself: _at least she's not dead._

So what the hell was this "prognosis" about?

But if she hadn't told him about whatever the hell Jon meant before, he was hardly going to try to get any information about it now.

It was none of his business.

It was all none of his business.

Malcolm got it. He'd accepted Trip's bottle of Talisker and his terse account of the events on Vulcan and pressed for nothing more, just shared a drink with him, patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, and asked about other matters. And from the way Hoshi and Travis and the others didn't even ask him about it, Trip assumed that Malcolm had run interference for him. After all, it wasn't as if his trip to Vulcan hadn't become notorious. He'd even had to fend off reporters at his parents' house in Mississippi.

So this meant, really, that the rest of the crew got it.

The only one who didn't get it was T'Pol.

Sometimes, he wondered how much worse this would feel if she _did._


	11. Cold Station 12

**SPOILERS:** "Cold Station 12" and "Home," etc., and it may make little sense without them.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Cold Station 12" was written by Alan Brennert.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I'm on break this week, so I get to do more writing. (Not that this is what I OUGHT to be doing, but this is much more fun than grocery shopping.)

Some review responses: For anyone who feels Trip isn't suffering enough, I highly recommend you go seek solace in my _Commander Tucker_ series – it's a true angst-fest. Or, you could just wait. There's no way Season 4 can be easy on this Trip, either.

To address another concern that was raised, none of this means I'm going to accept TATV as canon. TATV concerns a vapid holodeck novel/training exercise written hundreds of years after the fact. I'll accept it as a set of missing scenes for a forgettable _The Next Generation_ episode. I'll even accept it as an honest attempt to creatively unite the two series in a nostalgic farewell to the franchise. Unfortunately, the end result is strangely petulant, even insulting, and like most of you I simply won't accept it as _Enterprise_ canon. Frankly, I'm not even sure we are _meant_ to. If you ask me, the whole thing is constructed like a great big giant reset button that's just sitting there, waiting to be pushed.

Having said all that, I hope anyone who raised these concerns feels reassured rather than abashed, because I very much appreciate ALL comments. Review alerts are trickling in eventually, and I will respond personally when I can.

* * *

Mess Hall was buzzing, the happy drone punctuated by the occasional shriek or hug. The crew was still catching up with each other after their long leaves. Hoshi already knew who was back and who had left – a few of the MACOs, including Amanda Cole, and Anna Hess, who had decided to get married and stay planet-side – but she was eager to see how their returning crew mates looked. There were some new engagement rings or wedding rings being shown around, she noticed, and some happy, relaxed faces that suggested the break had allowed for some real recovery from the trauma of the Expanse.

There were quite a few new faces, too, all marked by various combinations of excitement and uncertainty. The new people were still figuring out how to get lunch, let alone how to master their assignments.

Then there were the returning faces that made her wonder. Ensign Masaro, for example, was taking some pains to avoid direct eye contact … not that he'd ever been the warmest guy in the room. She was surprised that he'd signed on again. She filed a note away to keep an eye on him.

She saw their new passenger Udar walk in, escorted by a MACO corporal, on his way to the captain's mess. Not long after, their chief engineer entered, took a quick assessing look around, and grabbed a sandwich and a cup of coffee. When she caught his eye, he smiled and came over to sit. "So how are you?" he asked.

"Great," she said. "No more bugs in my head."

"Glad to hear it."

"So what's with the hair?" she asked. Trip's usual combination of ash blond and brown had turned a rather startling yellow.

He rolled his eyes. "I made the mistake of letting Grandma give me a home-do."

She chuckled. "My mom tried to talk me into a new style, but I kept putting it off, and then getting called back early saved me. Everyone at home all right?"

"Yeah, they're fine," he said, and smiled, but it was a polite smile instead of a genuine one. "And your family?"

All was not well with Commander Tucker; that much was obvious, though he looked better than he had when his sister died. Hoshi desperately wanted to ask him about his trip to Vulcan, but Malcolm had already warned her that it was a sore subject.

She was considering whether to ignore Malcolm's advice when she saw Trip glance up and stiffen. T'Pol had entered the room. Trip put his head down and began to eat in double-time.

Hoshi saw no reason to put her head down herself, and smiled a greeting at T'Pol, who loaded her tray and made her way to their table.

"Aren't you eating with the cap'n?" Trip said.

"He wanted a private meal with our passenger," T'Pol said. "Am I interrupting?"

"Of course not," Hoshi said, and gestured for her to sit. "I believe congratulations are in order, Commander."

"Thank you," she said. "It is agreeable to have an official rank to go along with my responsibilities."

"Yes, congratulations on that, too, but I was actually referring to your wedding."

T'Pol glanced at Tucker, who didn't look up. "Thank you, but that is merely a marriage of convenience undertaken to help my mother. I am hopeful that it will not last long."

"Oh," Hoshi said, a little stunned.

Tucker, still not looking up, said, "You know, I really don't see how it's going to help your mother if you go around letting everybody and his brother know that."

"My mother has already resumed her post at the Vulcan Science Academy."

Tucker finally looked up. "_And_ she could lose it again. If you're going to marry someone you don't love to help your mother, you might as well try to make sure the sacrifice was worth it."

T'Pol flushed, but she didn't say anything.

Well, _this _is definitely awkward, Hoshi thought. Perhaps it served her right for ignoring Malcolm.

Tucker added, "I have to assume it would also embarrass the hell out of _your husband_ if talk like that got back to Vulcan."

T'Pol regarded him coolly. "Koss is well aware of the nature of our arrangement."

Tucker shook his head and turned to Hoshi. "Do you see what too much logic can do to people?"

"Commander?" she squeaked.

He seemed to suddenly realize what he'd just said. "Sorry. I didn't mean any offense, T'Pol."

_Like hell you didn't, _Hoshi thought.

T'Pol regarded Tucker for a long moment … long enough that he frowned and looked back down at his plate. "Your … concerns are understandable, Commander," she said softly. "But perhaps we should confine our conversation to other matters. How was your leave, Ensign?"

Hoshi had gotten halfway through her answer – which she had made longer than usual out of a desperate hope to avoid any more unpleasantness – when Trip suddenly stood up. "Excuse me, ladies, but duty calls."

Both of them fell silent while they watched him stalk across the room to deposit his dishes – he still hadn't eaten all his lunch, Hoshi noticed – and leave without a backwards glance.

T'Pol bowed her head.

Hoshi said, "I'm sorry, Commander. I guess I shouldn't have brought up your wedding."

"There is no need to apologize. Commander Tucker is probably correct that more discretion from me in this matter might be beneficial."

"Well, you don't have to worry about me," Hoshi said, though it was going to be damnably annoying not to be able to talk to Malcolm about it. But then again, Malcolm could probably be trusted to keep it quiet. "I am the soul of discretion."

T'Pol's eyebrow rose – she was probably trying to parse all the colloquialisms. "Thank you."

Hoshi said, "I'm wondering about something else, actually. How did you manage to communicate with the Orions on the station without your translator?" This was at least a work-related question, and presumably a safe one.

T'Pol frowned. "I believe it was more a question of how they communicated with _me_." But she went on to theorize about their translation abilities, especially given the enormous variety of languages present, and the rest of the meal passed in comfortable conversation.

Indeed, it struck Hoshi eventually that she and T'Pol had _never_ spent this much time over a meal before. Could it be that their Vulcan first officer was lonely?

As she walked back to the bridge, she reflected on that, and on Trip's uncharacteristic rudeness. Clearly, that notorious visit to Vulcan hadn't done much for the relationship between their chief engineer and their first officer - which wasn't too surprising, given that she'd come back married to someone else, however unwillingly.

Hoshi shook her head slightly, and resumed her post. If the second and third officer couldn't even manage a civilized lunch together, how were they supposed to work together on this mission?

Of course, there had been long stretches in the past when they would be fairly obviously on the outs with each other and yet manage to perform their duties.

That must take extraordinary discipline.

Or, perhaps, an extraordinary attachment.

But would it survive this?


	12. The Augments

**SPOILERS:** "The Augments" and "Home," etc., and it may make little sense without them.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "The Augments" was written by Michael Sussman.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Yes, you can definitely tell I'm an English major with this entry. (Sorry!) Many thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

Trip thought it was "for the best" she'd married Koss because a Vulcan and Human stood less of a chance than Romeo and Juliet?

During the trip back to Earth to deliver Dr. Soong to prison, T'Pol read the play, hoping to better understand Trip's reasoning. She'd heard of it before, of course; it was one of those cultural references Vulcans learned about in their training for any post on Earth. But that had merely entailed reviewing a brief synopsis of the plot, which was baffling enough. The actual play proved far more challenging. Shakespeare's English was very different than the Standard English the crew spoke. In addition, the play assumed a great deal of knowledge of unfamiliar and often archaic cultural practices. She found herself having to consult the footnotes to understand most of it. Indeed, judging from the great quantity of those footnotes, modern-day Humans also found it necessary to do this.

Some of what she read actually reminded her more of Vulcan society than Human society. Clearly, Juliet's parents expected to arrange her marriage. But other aspects of it were purely Human. For example, there was the fact that Romeo began the play despondent over Rosaline, only to fall in love with Juliet the moment he saw her.

The young man certainly shifted his affections quickly. Perhaps Trip now expected to do the same.

There were varying attitudes about marriage even in the play itself. The nurse didn't think that one should allow an impolitic marriage to ruin one's life. Romeo and Juliet clearly felt otherwise. The elders who spoke at the end of the play – and presumably the Human audience – apparently considered their suicides heroic, even inspiring. And while after recent events in her own life T'Pol could understand that impulse towards oblivion all too well, she didn't see how, upon any thoughtful consideration, their deaths could be regarded as anything but foolish and regrettable.

Ultimately, reading the play did not satisfy her original goal: to figure out what was driving her mate's insistence on respecting a marriage of convenience that she had explained quite clearly would never be consummated. Where did his slavish devotion to the marriage ideal come from? He was not particularly religious, that she knew of. The divorce rate for Humans on Earth had held steady for the last few decades at around 35 percent, a shocking figure on Vulcan. He clearly didn't object to sexual relations _outside_ of marriage. So why, in this matter, did Trip consider his own moral purity more important than a continuing intimate relationship with her?

It was true that he had been appalled at the thought of mating with Phlox's wife, despite the freewheeling nature of Denobulan marriage, so he was at least being consistent. It was also true that he had, on Vulcan, offered to marry her. Given his apparent respect for the institution, she realized now that this must have carried great significance, even it seemed at the time that he was merely offering it as a way out of her difficulties.

What if she had agreed to marry him?

But she had not agreed. She could not, for compelling reasons of family honor and interstellar relations, and he knew this.

So why be so inflexible in this one matter, when he was not a particularly dogmatic person in any other area of his life?

Just to be sure she hadn't somehow missed a vital point, she viewed the most recent two movie versions of the play as well. Both, inexplicably, retained the original language even though they were set in more modern times; one, in fact, had been set in the distant future.

Trip had always been her primary guide to the perplexities of Human culture, and she saw no reason not to consult him now. So the next time she managed to corner him in the mess hall – which didn't happen very often, as he had gotten quite skilled at avoiding her – she said, "I have a question for you about _Romeo and Juliet_."

He immediately looked wary. "Oh yeah?" He had already sat down with a heavily laden tray. It would be hard for him to explain suddenly changing his mind about eating in the mess hall without coming right out and telling her he didn't want to eat with her. Fortunately, Trip had generally remained polite. Indeed, since his slightly hostile outburst in front of Ensign Sato, he had been far_ too _polite. By now T'Pol missed arguing with him almost as much as she missed sleeping with him. "Why are even recent versions filmed in the original language?" she asked. "I find Shakespeare's English extremely difficult to understand."

He grinned. "You're not the only one. I don't know. I guess there's a lot of respect for the poetry of it. And, I'm just guessing here, but it probably just wouldn't work the same in contemporary English."

"Because…?"

"Well, because it would be just totally unbelievable. Romeo and Juliet are both kids by today's standards – hell, she is even by _their_ standards. You've got parents arranging marriages, which just doesn't happen anymore. On Earth, I mean." There was an awkward pause, before he continued, "Then you've got the whole complicated sleeping potion/poison/stabbing thing at the end – talk about going over the top. _West Side Story_ is a modern retelling that is slightly more realistic, if you can call any musical realistic. You might want to try that one sometime."

She waited, hoping he would suggest that they could watch it together, but he didn't. He no longer suggested any shared activities. She said, "The play suggests that their tragic death brings peace to the community at last. I found that … puzzling."

He shrugged, chewing industriously. Perhaps he was hoping to finish his meal quickly so that he would be free to leave. When he finished his mouthful, he said, "I wouldn't place any bets on that lasting very long, myself. But you do realize it's all fiction? It's not like any of that actually happened."

"My text suggests a possible real-life version of these events dating back to the 1300s."

"Well, even if there was, it wasn't like back in Shakespeare's time he could just go grab that kind of information when he felt like it. Anyway, I seem to recall my high school English teacher saying the plot was pretty slavishly copied from a poem."

"Yes, by Arthur Brooke, who apparently took it from other authors himself."

"Well, there you go." He shoveled in another giant forkful.

"So … if the language is difficult, the plot is unrealistic, and the story isn't even original, why is it still read and performed so widely?"

He looked up at her, mouth full, eyebrows raised. Eventually, he swallowed, and said, "Because it's beautiful? I don't know. Maybe it's because it's an extreme version of something most of us encounter in some form or another at some point in our lives, and that gives us a way to talk about it. Shakespeare is really great at taking the basic human conflicts and laying them out in these really dramatic ways. If you can get past the language long enough to figure out what the hell is going on, they just really resonate for most humans. People from all different cultures on the planet have performed them for generations. Hell, I hear he's even a big hit with the Klingons."

"Are you are familiar with more of Shakespeare's plays, then?" This was a more literate Tucker than she had imagined.

"Well, sure. We had to read or at least watch quite a few of them in school. And I went beyond that in college. Plus there are some classic movie take-offs on his plots, like _Ran_ or _Forbidden Planet_." He grinned. "What can I say? The smart girls like a guy who knows his Shakespeare, and I've always had a weakness for smart girls." His face immediately darkened. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He sighed and shook his head. "It kind of felt like old times there for a minute."

Indeed. "Surely there is nothing wrong with that."

"Well, actually, yes, there is."

Silence fell. He focused on his food. She decided she might as well know the worst. "Will you be looking for a new smart girl now?"

His head snapped up. "What?"

She knew he'd heard the question, so she simply waited. She would so very much like to hear that he would not.

He stood up quite suddenly and signaled curtly in the direction of the captain's mess – sure to be unoccupied, since the captain was currently escorting Soong to the surface. He left his tray behind and headed for the doors, so she did the same and followed him.

Once they were both inside, he made sure the doors were closed behind them, then said, "You don't get it, T'Pol. You don't seem to understand that you have no right anymore to ask me _anything _about that kind of thing." He threw his hands up in exasperation, almost as if he were talking to himself. "But you're Vulcan, so I don't know why I'm so surprised by that."

"But I don't mind - "

"But I do. I _do_ mind. Let me try to explain it to you. If you love someone in a Shakespeare play, you'll do anything for her. You'll die for her. You'll pretend to be a lowly servant or even disguise yourself as a woman just to stay close to her. But if she marries someone else instead … that's it. That's the end of the story. If it's a tragedy, you'll end up dead, and if it's a comedy, you'll fall in love with someone else. And now I'm not talking Shakespeare, I'm talking real life. Believe me when I say that the most you can _ever _expect of a guy after that is friendship … and even that is pretty unlikely because it's just so damned painful." His eyes filled and he blinked angrily. "If I still love you, it's only because I haven't figured out how to stop yet. But I _have_ to stop, and you have to let me. I know that we still need to be able to work together, but when it comes to _this_ stuff, I need you to back off. I don't know how to put it any plainer than this: I need you to _leave me alone_."

And he turned and left.

T'Pol sank down into the nearest chair.

Trip had never said he loved her before, not in so many words. But he had said it now – only to insist that he no longer wanted to, and that he was doing his best to stop.

He apparently thought this was simply a matter of time and being left alone. And perhaps, for him, it was.

Or perhaps he would never be free of her, just as she suspected she would never be free of him. He was her mate! Yet he clearly regarded any attempt to stay close to him as an act of cruelty, and so he had effectively just exiled her from him.

It was a tragedy not entirely unlike _Romeo and Juliet_, except that one would have to be Vulcan to understand it.

She took a shaky breath, and then another, and another. Thinking of this in terms of high tragedy was hardly going to help. One dazed walk in the desert aside, she was no Juliet. She could still be useful to this crew, to Earth, to Vulcan, to him.

She would honor his request and leave him alone. If they were truly bonded, perhaps that connection would eventually bring him back to her.

She composed herself into a proper appearance of impassivity and returned to the table, where he had abandoned his tray of half-finished food. She sat and finished her broth, staring at the remains of his meal, then put both trays away, and headed back to her duty station.

And as she walked, heavy with her new understanding of how things stood, an oddly disturbing thought suddenly came to her: Had Kotok read Shakespeare?


	13. The Forge

**SPOILERS:** "The Forge" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "The Forge" was written by Judith Reeves-Stevens and Garfield Reeves-Stevens.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **Well, my spring break is over and one of these days it will actually be warm enough to do yard work again, so these will likely come more slowly now. Many thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

Something was wrong with Commander Tucker.

Phlox had long held a particular fondness for the young man. Partly this was because Tucker was one of those rare beings who seemed truly open and accepting of those who were different than him. Of course, Phlox had also raised his mimetic clone from infancy. However scientifically inexplicable _that_ process had been, it had given him a unique window into Commander Tucker's essential nature, and inspired a paternal sense of attachment to him. Not that he ever spoke of this to Tucker. Sim was dead, and Tucker apparently had none of Sim's own memories and therefore no reason to return those feelings. Phlox understood that Tucker was friendly with him simply because he was friendly with everyone.

This did not take away from Phlox's appreciation of him. Tucker was brilliant, confident, egalitarian, good-natured, plainspoken, generous. Of course, like any sentient being, he also had his weaknesses: He could be impulsive, stubborn, and overly sensitive; he was also prone to depression, insomnia and injury. Most frustrating, he was supremely reluctant to discuss any pain that could not be treated with an analgesic.

The last time Tucker had been notably afflicted, it had been from the loss of his sister, and it had literally made him ill: he couldn't sleep; he lost his appetite; he lacked energy; he lost his good humor. The man was obviously clinically depressed, but refused counseling, and it was only a matter of time before Phlox was going to have to force him into treatment. Fortunately, the passage of time and T'Pol's generous provision of Vulcan neuro-pressure had brought Tucker some solace before Phlox had needed to intervene.

Indeed, those two had found _great_ solace in each other. Phlox had not intended that, of course; shipboard romances among those in the same chain of the command were seldom a good idea, even if they did have a knack for reawakening a certain enthusiasm for life in the parties involved. If he'd guessed that there might be some attraction there – and he had – he'd also assumed that T'Pol's Vulcan discipline and Trip's native good sense would keep them from letting it develop into anything too disruptive.

Perhaps he should have tried to inoculate them against it by calling attention to those latent feelings earlier, much as he had tried to do with the captain at one point.

Perhaps he should have noticed their first officer's spiral into addiction earlier.

Perhaps he should never have suggested the neuro-pressure in the first place.

Well. Phlox had not practiced medicine for as long as he had without developing a philosophical attitude towards his mistakes. Sometimes even disaster might produce some greater good in the long term, just as sometimes his most logical, best-intentioned action, consistent with every standard of care in the known universe, would unexpectedly result in tragedy. Such was the arbitrary nature of life. He could only do his best, and hope it would all work out somehow.

In any case, it was clear that the second and third officers' attempt at an interspecies romance had not been successful. T'Pol had come back from Vulcan married to another man. Tucker had even been at the wedding. At first Phlox wondered if Tucker had suddenly developed Denobulan flexibility in his romantic arrangements, but it soon became clear that he had not. Although as far as he could tell, the two officers still worked together well, he had noticed an increasingly marked distance between them. T'Pol was losing weight and looked tired. Tucker, meanwhile, had not sunk into the obvious depression he'd suffered over the loss of his sister, but that did not mean he was well.

Tucker was brittle. Tucker was hyper-active. He kept organizing new activities – activities unlikely to attract Vulcan participation. He'd started up a regular sports night for the senior staff. He'd tried to organize a musical coffee house. He'd suggested that the crew put on a talent show. He'd tried - unsuccessfully - to resurrect movie night with a series of bombastic war epics. He'd nagged Lieutenant Reed to start a boxing tournament. Reed, wisely, had put him off and set up extra practices with the MACOs instead.

Phlox would always go along to whatever Tucker was trying to get started, partly out of curiosity about the activity, and partly to keep an eye on Tucker. Only the sports night had attracted enough interest to keep going for more than a few weeks, and Phlox wondered if the other officers participated because they were enjoying it, or because they sensed that their chief engineer desperately needed that outlet for his energy.

"Has Trip talked to you at all?" the captain asked him one day.

"About…?"

Archer scowled. "Unless I give him a direct order, he won't come eat with me and T'Pol. The last time I _ordered_ him to show, he fell off that ladder in engineering. This is getting ridiculous."

"Is his behavior unprofessional in duty situations?"

Archer shook his head. "No. As far as I can see, he's unfailingly polite with her. Too polite. I can't believe I actually miss their bickering, but I do. Sometimes all that arguing back and forth gets us a better solution than we'll get without it. "

"I'll see what I can do, Captain," Phlox said. "But it may not be much."

The next time Tucker showed up with a plasma burn – one of those minor injuries that had become all too common for him – Phlox worked on dressing it, and said, "I hear you no longer join the captain and T'Pol for meals."

Tucker's expression immediately turned mulish. "You _hear_?"

"The captain has expressed some concern about you."

"I'm fine. I don't know why he refuses to take my word on that."

"No doubt he misses the camaraderie the three of you used to share."

"I'm just trying to survive here, doc. I'm doing the best I can. I don't know what he expects from me."

"Perhaps, rather than simply avoiding your feelings, it would be better to talk about them."

"I don't think so. I just need some time."

"How much time? Are you feeling better now than you did two months ago?"

Tucker scowled.

Phlox said, "If not, I'd say you may need to find another approach. You could talk one-on-one with me, or we could arrange mutual sessions with Commander T'Pol, or with Captain Archer…"

"The cap'n should just be relieved he can stay the hell out of it. And I'm not interested in talking about it with you or anybody. I'm doing my job, I'm being professional, and the rest of it is nobody's business but mine."

Phlox said, "I could make that an order, Commander."

"You could, if you didn't know how pointless that would be." Tucker sighed. "Are we done here?"

"For now," Phlox said.

x x x

More time passed. Tucker stepped back a little on the frenetic activity and stopped injuring himself quite so often, but Archer reported that he still avoided the captain's table if he knew T'Pol was going to be there.

"You do find opportunities to be with him without her there, don't you?" Phlox asked.

Archer said. "Sure, we still hang out and watch sports. He stays focused on the game. He clearly doesn't want to talk about anything personal. And to tell you the truth, who am I to expect that? It's not like I keep him informed about _my_ personal life."

Phlox said, "Goodness! Does this mean you _have_ a personal life, Captain?"

Archer grinned. "I do. And that's all you're going to hear about it."

Well, it was nice to see that at least one member of the command crew was happy. T'Pol's weight had stabilized, so he felt relatively certain that she would be fine. Vulcan discipline could be quite useful in unpleasant personal circumstances.

Perhaps Tucker was right. Perhaps time was all that was really required. Perhaps he would bounce back eventually, as he had after the loss of his sister.

But time spent in pain could do bad things to people.

Phlox thought about this when the ship was in orbit around Vulcan and one of the guards from the United Earth embassy was lying in sickbay, dying. "I don't care about his body, Doc," Tucker said. "We need what's in his mind."

The man he'd known before would never have been so callous about the fellow lying there. How could he even be certain the man couldn't hear him? Archer might have been that cold. T'Pol, too. Essentially decent as they were, they nonetheless possessed that quality of considered ruthlessness that command in difficult circumstances tended to produce. But not Tucker. Phlox had seen him make brutal decisions before, but it had been clear he'd found it painful.

This time, he hadn't even noticed his own lack of compassion.

Phlox knew that even negative changes in a person could have positive results. He could imagine Tucker in command of his own ship, now. This Tucker was implacable. This Tucker would do what needed to be done. And this was quite convenient, perhaps, since this Tucker had been left in command during what appeared to be a situation fraught with peril.

But Phlox nonetheless mourned the loss of the sweet little boy he'd once held in his arms.


	14. Awakening

**SPOILERS:** "Awakening" etc. and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Awakening" was written by André Bormanis, and I pick up some of his dialogue in progress as we open.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **And we're moving along. This episode doesn't allow much room for TnT, frankly. I might have been tempted to borrow Soval's point of view, but that's been done before (and quite nicely, so I wish I could remember the title so I could recommend it to you). Thanks as always, reviewers. It's taking days now to get your review alerts, but I do respond as I get them (if you logged in).

* * *

T'Pol told her mother, "When you gave me that map, you knew I'd try to find you."

"I thought that if you could see what we were trying to accomplish…"

"That I'd understand? That I'd join you?"

"I held out that hope, yes. It's possible I was being foolish."

"Extremely." How could someone as relentlessly logical as her mother be so deluded? T'Pol paced impatiently away and back again. "If you believed they already suspected you at the time of my visit… but that makes no sense. Kotok would have even less reason to wish his son to marry the child of a suspected Syrranite."

"You underestimate the bond between our families. Kotok is the one who warned me that I was being monitored. He also introduced me to T'Pau, shortly after your wedding. Before that, I had merely been reading Syrran's works and attempting to make contact with him."

"Kotok is a Syrranite?" T'Pol began to calculate quickly. Kotok was far better placed than anyone in the Forge to plant a bomb in Earth's embassy … or, if he was acting as a double agent, to make it appear to be a Syrranite plot. Alhough, in that case, it made even less sense to wed his son to her, unless he hoped to use that connection to some other purpose.

T'Les said, "As far as I know, Kotok doesn't subscribe to any particular belief system. He's a pragmatist. But he does suspect that a dangerous conspiracy is at work within the High Command."

"A conspiracy with what purpose?"

"Kotok believes the Syrranites may be able to help Vulcan recover its way … if we can overcome certain weaknesses."

T'Pol raised a curious eyebrow, even as she noted that her mother had completely ignored her question.

T'Les lowered her voice. "Kotok felt that Syrran lacked political skill. Of course, one never knew if one was truly dealing with Syrran or with Surak."

"You can't possibly believe that."

"I have first-hand knowledge of it. I have melded with Syrran, and shared thoughts with Surak's katra. It was of the most remarkable experiences of my life."

This was getting worse and worse. "You are being manipulated, Mother."

"We are _all_ being manipulated," T'Les said. "But not by Syrranites."

"What makes you think you can trust Kotok?"

"Your father trusted him."

"And Father is dead."

T'Les sighed. "Kotok has shared memories with me; I know we can rely on him."

"What makes you so certain a mind meld cannot also contain lies and manipulation, especially if it is wielded by someone with ill intent?" She felt a twinge of nausea, helplessly reminded of Tolaris. With all the promiscuous mind melding going on in this group, wasn't it possible her mother had also contracted Pa'nar Syndrome? Might that explain the bizarre choices she was now making?

T'Les stared soulfully at her. Instead of answering her question, she asked, "How is Commander Tucker?"

T'Pol turned away and closed her eyes. "I don't know. We seldom talk. My marriage has proven too great a barrier for him."

"I'm sorry. I know you cared for a great deal for each other. But if you truly do not know how he is, and if he was willing to give you up, any bond you might have shared must not have been very strong."

T'Pol said nothing, even as she reeled with dismay at how easily her mother dismissed her bond with Trip. Here was another echo of what Kotok had said. Was it that simple, then? Had her bond with Trip never amounted to anything significant? And if other people's mate bonds were so easily measured and found wanting, why were bonds such a mysterious and forbidden topic?

Then again, mind melds were seldom spoken of, either, but these Syrranites just couldn't shut up about them.

She felt her mother's hand on her shoulder. "This means you should be able to form a proper mate bond with Koss. He has been extremely patient with you."

T'Pol stepped out from under her mother's hand and willed herself not to express any of the sheer rage she felt at that idea.

"It is time I returned you to your captain," T'Les said, and gestured for T'Pol to walk with her. "For a Human, he has coped quite well with the conditions of the Forge."

This time T'Pol allowed herself a frown. She found Archer's inexplicable confidence in his alien surroundings profoundly irritating. If not entirely comfortable, he nonetheless seemed far more invulnerable to the local conditions than most Humans would have been – certainly more so than Trip would have been in his place.

And Archer's certainty about finding the sanctuary … where had that come from? It was an affront against sense.

Was it possible Humans had psychic abilities they were not even aware of? It was notoriously hard to scientifically measure skills such as precognition; Vulcans had long dismissed the possibility of it even among themselves, but anecdotal tales nonetheless abounded, just as they did on Earth.

Perhaps it all amounted to a kind of unconscious logic; perhaps Archer had simply subliminally noticed something in the rockface.

Similarly, it did not require precognition to conclude that the longer they stayed here, the more likely they were to meet with misfortune. Her urge to get away from this location and return to _Enterprise_, however, felt far stronger and more primitive than any logical deduction she had ever arrived at.

"You must return to the ship with us," she told her mother, urgently. "T'Pau could come as well, if she wishes. We will speak to Kotok. If the claims he made to you have merit…"

"Kotok is not on Vulcan right now."

"How convenient."

Her mother stopped in front of their cell. "You will have to trust somebody in this matter, T'Pol. I regret that that you don't seem to believe it can be your own mother."

"So do I," T'Pol said bitterly, and walked through the door into their cell.

x x x

Trip stayed on the bridge long enough to get the initial damage reports – and for the reality that he was taking them to Andoria to sink in with his command crew.

"Estimated time to Andorian space?" he asked Travis.

"Just over four hours at our current speed, sir."

Trip sighed. He felt as if he'd been up for two days straight, although part of that was his own fault for failing to sleep well when he'd had the chance. But he didn't have to luxury of letting himself get strung out and punchy, not when he was in command. He decided he'd try to get a short nap in before he had to deal with any Andorians … right after he stopped by sickbay to check on the injured. "Malcolm, you have the con." He stood up. "Hoshi, see if you can get Soval assigned some quarters. I assume you're going to want some privacy eventually for rest or meditation, Ambassador."

Soval's eyebrow rose. "You assume correctly. But I am no longer an ambassador."

"Well, I sure hope you can still act like one when we get to Andoria, because nobody's ever suggested that I was born to be a diplomat." He turned back to Malcolm. "Call me if you need me."

Malcolm nodded curtly, flashing him his I-know-you-outrank-me-but-what-the-bloody-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing look. Trip just grimaced and moved along. He was still figuring that out himself.

He slumped a little in the turbo lift, safe from prying eyes. Being in command at a time like this was not anything he wanted at this point in his life, but neither Archer nor T'Pol would be available any time soon. Or, possibly, ever.

In his own mind, he replayed what he had said to Soval moments earlier: "They've been in tough jams before." He'd instinctively brushed off the man's rather un-Vulcan attempt at empathy, and he still wasn't sure why. Intellectually, he knew Jon and T'Pol were in terrible trouble. If V'Las was willing to fire on a Starfleet vessel in orbit, he was hardly going to show any mercy towards those on the ground, far away from any witnesses.

Yet Trip felt quite certain that T'Pol, at least, was okay. He had no idea why he was so certain of this.

Maybe this was just his primitive primate brain in denial, protecting him from distraction at a time when he couldn't afford it. Maybe it already had enough crazy shit to deal with. He still couldn't believe the ruthless efficiency with which V'Las was wreaking such destruction.

And now he was on his way to Andoria to warn them - _without_ telling Admiral Gardner, who probably wouldn't approve. And that was crazy, too.

He walked down the corridor to sickbay. These casualties would be the product of his own decisions. And the way things were looking, they might not be the last crewmen to suffer for his choices.

He took a deep breath, armored his heart, and walked through the doors.

So be it.


	15. Kir'Shara Part I

**SPOILERS:** "Kir'Shara" etc. and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Kir'Shara" was written by Michael Sussman. My Vulcan here is from the Vulcan Language Dictionary site.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **This has now gotten so long, I'm breaking it up into at least two parts, possibly more. I'm happy to see that the site is back up to speed with email alerts (knock wood), so hopefully you lovely reviewers will get a much prompter response going forward.

I shouldn't be doing this instead of real work, but there's a part of me that just wants Season 4 to be the hell over with already, and I'm indulging it.

Minor edit 4/5 - thanks, Putaro!

* * *

Soval looked up from the science station he had been allowed to man as a grimy Commander Tucker entered the bridge. He was grateful that Tucker seemed to understand that in the wake of his experience on Shran's ship, he needed to do something useful. It also soothed him to be surrounded by people who would immediately notice if he suddenly disappeared, for he had been meditating alone in his quarters when Shran had beamed him into that diabolical interrogation device.

Unfortunately, a Vulcan should only go so long without meditation.

"Status?" Tucker asked Reed.

"We should have the warp engines back in less than an hour," Reed said. "Hull plating is at less than 50% and probably won't improve significantly until we can repair the hull. We have partial phase cannons and torpedoes, but targeting is still offline."

"All right," Tucker said. "We're not going to get that breach on G deck locked up as tight as I'd like before we need to get moving, but it's been braced and shouldn't interfere with achieving warp. If everything else is good to go, we'll work on the targeting systems en route." He looked over at the communications officer. "Admiral Gardner wanted me?"

Sato said, "Yes sir. As soon as possible, he said."

"See if you can get him for me. And then … have you taken any break at all?"

"No sir," Sato said.

"Take one," he said to Sato. "You too, Travis. I'll be in there," he said to Reed, with a nod towards the ready room, and disappeared into it. Soval got up and followed him in.

"This is not a great time, Soval," Tucker said. "Not unless you're just dying to try your diplomatic skills on the admiral for me."

"If you feel it would help…"

"It won't," Tucker said, and looked up at him, clearly wondering why he was there.

"Commander, my … experience on Shran's vessel has left me in great need of meditation."

"That's not surprising."

"Unfortunately, the necessary state is … eluding me. I don't normally require a flame for meditation, but…" Soval shifted uncomfortably. "In this case, I believe that one might be most helpful. Is there any way I could obtain access to such a thing?"

"T'Pol has a supply of Vulcan meditation candles. I doubt she would mind if you borrowed one."

Soval waited for Tucker to fully process his request. It didn't take long.

Tucker grimaced. "I'll take you down there after I talk to the admiral."

"Surely a steward could show me? I don't wish to cause any inconvenience."

"It's all right," Tucker said, and smiled grimly. "I know exactly where she keeps her lighter."

Sato's voice came over the comm. "I have Admiral Gardner, Commander."

"Put him through," Tucker said, and straightened in his seat, suddenly going completely expressionless.

Soval left, thinking that for such a generally emotive Human, Tucker had some tendencies that were quite Vulcan.

x x x

Gardner had been irritated with him, no doubt about it, but had ended up complimenting him in the end. "You had no business doing any of that without authorization, Commander, but, with the benefit of hindsight… you might have just helped to prevent a very nasty interstellar war."

"That was the general idea, sir."

"Hell of a risk, though." Gardner scowled. "Hell of a risk. However, chewing you out isn't the only reason I wanted to talk. We've had a request that you rendezvous with a small Vulcan scout ship on your way back and pick up a passenger. I believe you know the man? His name is Kotok."

_Kotok._ Koss's father. Trip felt his gut clench in suspicion. "Why us?"

"I have no idea. It could be that you're simply the closest ship at this point. Vulcan has already recalled its entire fleet."

_The entire fleet?_ "I wouldn't trust Kotok, sir. He was pretty high up in the intelligence ministry under V'Las."

"I'm not asking you to _trust_ him. Just give him a ride. The request came straight from the High Council. We do rely quite extensively on Vulcan intelligence. Anything we can do to further that relationship is probably in our best interest."

Trip was glad he said 'probably.' It was long past time to take anything that came out of Vulcan on faith. "I'm not giving him free run of this ship," he said.

"I'm not suggesting you do. Just…" Gardner grimaced. "Whatever you do, be polite about it."

x x x

Soval noticed Tucker hesitate just slightly as he input a code and used his thumb print to gain entrance to T'Pol's cabin.

Inside, he went straight to a box she kept on a shelf, pulled out a lighter, and turned. "Do you have a preference for any particular candle?" he asked. "She usually lights them all."

"You appear to be quite familiar with her personal routines."

"She tried to teach me how to meditate," Tucker said, with a sigh. "I wasn't a particularly gifted student." His eyes slid to the bed and away again.

_Interesting._ "Any candle would do," Soval said.

Tucker scanned the room and chose one on a shelf, instead of the one T'Pol obviously used to focus her own meditation. Soval watched with fascination as Tucker held it up under his nose and inhaled.

Tucker must have noticed him watching, for he said, "I've always loved this smell."

"It's called _svai kr'trkkla _– flower of serenity. It is from a cactus-like plant that only blooms after a rain."

"Ah." An expression of profound sadness flitted across Tucker's face and then was gone as if it had never existed. He handed the candle to Soval. "Here you go. I'll tell her where it went."

"This is an aroma I have long associated with T'Pol," Soval said. "No doubt you were also relieved to hear that she is safe."

"Yes," Tucker said briskly. "Do you have what you need, then?"

"I do."

He had much more than that, in fact.

x x x

Trip invited – ordered, actually - a reluctant Malcolm to join him for dinner that night with their new passenger Kotok as well as Soval. Malcolm had argued that he would have nothing to say. Trip had countered that being in command gave him the right to spread the pain around. "Besides," he said, "How bad can it be? Vulcans think it's rude to speak during meals."

"Even more delightful," Malcolm said sourly.

Once they had gathered, however – and learned that the two Vulcans were already acquainted with each other - Kotok quickly began to speak over the quiet clinking of cutlery on porcelain. "Your chef seems quite well versed with Vulcan cuisine," he said. "This is an excellent plomeek broth."

"Chef does his best to keep T'Pol fed," Trip said. "He's always complaining that she's too thin. No doubt he also took the opportunity to replenish his stores while we were at Vulcan."

"Did you get down to the surface this time, Commander?" Kotok said.

"No, not this time." He would be quite happy if he never saw Vulcan again.

"And you, Lieutenant Reed?" Kotok asked.

"I did get down to the surface," Reed said. "But only briefly." He grimaced.

Soval said, "Lieutenant Reed discovered the evidence V'Las had had planted in the ruins of the embassy."

"And was nearly blown up in the process," Reed added.

"V'Las's ruthlessness is quite breathtaking, isn't it?" Kotok said. "My mission to Paan Mokar was clearly designed to get me out of the way as he began his invasion, and probably also intended to make me one of its victims."

Trip regarded him for a moment, and then returned his focus to his plate. As far as he was concerned, there was no particular reason to believe anything Kotok said.

"I was deeply sorry to hear that T'Les was killed," Kotok said.

"Indeed," Soval said. "That is a great loss for Vulcan."

Kotok said, "T'Pol has now lost both parents quite young."

Trip stared down at his meal. He wished they would just be quiet, like proper Vulcans were supposed to be. He had been sorry to hear about T'Les, too, of course. It felt very strange to know something so terrible had happened to T'Pol and to also know that he could do absolutely nothing about it.

It also suggested that his earlier certainty that she was okay was wrong. Who could truly be okay after that?

"Are you familiar with Vulcan mourning rituals, Commander?" Soval asked.

"Can't say that I am," Trip said.

"The burial or entombment always takes place before the next sundown if at all possible. Then the bereaved go into ritual seclusion for a period of time. For an adult child of an adult parent, one day is typical. After that, T'Pol will receive condolences and execute her mother's wishes. Since you knew T'Les and _Enterprise_ will be at Vulcan soon, the custom would call for you to make a brief visit to her home to express your sympathy."

Trip said, "Will Koss be there?"

Soval looked at Kotok, who said, "He _is_ her husband."

It would probably not be a good idea to mention that if he saw Koss, he would want to kill him. "I'll go if I can. Unfortunately we've taken a lot of damage, and I'm not sure when we'll have the captain back."

"I will be happy to accompany you, Commander," Soval said. "_Not_ to go would be a significant breach of protocol … from both of us."

Trip slumped a little. Soval obviously didn't intend to let him get out of this. "Very well," he said.

"The captain will no doubt want to go as well," Malcolm said, probably trying to be supportive.

"Yes, if he is well enough," Kotok said.

Trip looked at Malcolm, who looked just as surprised as he was. "I just spoke to him half an hour ago," Trip said. "What do you mean, 'if he's well enough'?"

"Apparently your captain is carrying the _katra _of Surak," Kotok said. "Assuming this is true, I'm sure the priests are currently attempting to … find a new home for it."

"Wait a minute … what?" Trip said. "What the hell is 'the katra of Surak'? THE Surak?" The captain had not mentioned a single word about this.

Kotok said, "The _katra_ roughly corresponds to the Human concept of the soul. Your reaction is understandable, Commander. Not even the Vulcan Science Academy acknowledges the existence of _katras, _let alone that one could continue to exist as a cohesive consciousness this long after death. However, T'Pau and the captain insist that this is true, and a priest has verified it as well. So it certainly appears that _somebody's _consciousness has taken up residence in your captain. The priests are no doubt searching for a solution even as we speak."

Was all of Vulcan going insane? "And if they don't succeed?" Trip asked.

Soval's tone was dry. "I suppose you might be promoted to your first command sooner than you expected."

Trip shook his head. "That's not going to happen. But even if it did, that would be T'Pol, not me."

Soval said, "Earth is hardly going to put the flagship of its fleet in the hands of a Vulcan."

"We have already been in T'Pol's hands many times over the years," Reed said. "But I tend to agree. It wouldn't happen now. Perhaps after both fleets have had more experience with joint exercises…"

Trip scowled. "T'Pol's an _officer_ of _Starfleet_, not some Vulcan on a joint exercise. But none of this is relevant anyway, because the captain will be _fine_." He stabbed impatiently at a recalcitrant piece of potato. The captain had to come back. If T'Pol were captain, she'd need his help. If he were captain, he'd need hers.

And neither of them was ready for that right now.

x x x

"Are you sure uniforms will do for this? We don't need robes?" Tucker sounded quite harried. Soval noted that he had arrived at the bridge in a different uniform, one that was more reflective and did not appear to require the wearing of multiple layers. He also noted that the young man who had maintained calm in the face of attack by vastly superior forces now appeared profoundly rattled by the necessity of a simple social call.

But then, that perhaps made sense now, too. Soval had been rethinking some of his assumptions about T'Pol's long service on _Enterprise_. "Your uniform should suffice, Commander. It is not a ceremony, merely a visit."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Tucker said. "Let's get this over with. Travis, you're driving. Hoshi, please have one of the MACOs escort Kotok to the shuttle pod. Malcolm, you have the con."

Ensign Sato turned her chair to say, "Please give Commander T'Pol my condolences, Commander."

"Mine too," Reed said. "And I'm certain you can include the whole crew in that."

"Thanks, guys," Tucker said, with a sad smile. "I'll be sure to pass all of that along."

x x x

The shuttle landed at the outskirts of Shi'Kahr, where Earth had set up a provisional embassy while the original was taken down very slowly, for fear of further possible 'evidence' exploding.

Archer met them on the landing pad. "Report," he said, sounding just like the captain and nothing like a guy with an ancient Vulcan celebrity stuck in his head, although he definitely did look a bit the worse for wear. Trip made a quick report, conscious that Soval and Kotok were waiting for Archer to greet them, and then he said, "You okay, Cap'n?"

"I'm fine," Archer said. "I haven't actually laid eyes on T'Pol since she was captured, though, so why don't we get going. You brought me a clean uniform, I hope?"

"Yes sir," Trip said, and handed over a rucksack. "What do you mean, captured?"

"I'll fill you in while we go," Archer said, walking towards one of the buildings. "The High Council has provided transportation for us. Ambassador Soval, how are you? I hear that Shran rather seriously pushed the limits of diplomacy."

"I am largely recovered," Soval said. "Allow me to introduce Kotok, Deputy Minister of Intelligence. He is also your first officer's father-in-law."

Archer glanced quickly at Trip, who did his best not to react. "Kotok. A pleasure."

"Captain," Kotok said. "I am grateful that your ship was able to provide me with faster passage home than I could have obtained on my own."

"Always glad to help," Archer said, again looking at Trip, who allowed himself a slight grimace.

x x x

The lot where ground cars generally parked for T'Les's neighborhood was crammed full, so the Council's driver simply dropped them and promised to return. There were other Vulcans walking in the narrow alley, some ahead of them, others passing them in the other direction. Either this was pedestrian rush hour, or T'Les's wake was attracting a crowd.

Trip let the others get ahead of him. The heavy gravity, the thin air, the heat, and the familiar scenery were all conspiring to make him feel ill.

The captain turned back and stopped and waited for him to catch up. "You all right?"

"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting to be back _here _so soon."

"I'm sure T'Pol will appreciate your effort."

Trip just kept doggedly putting one foot in front of the other. "You were there when T'Les died?"

"Yes, in T'Pol's arms. She'd been hit in the bombardment. It was difficult … but at least it was fairly quick."

"How did T'Pol handle it?"

"She insisted that we bury her mother and the other Syrranites who had died with her before we moved on. Fortunately that wasn't exactly difficult with all the rocks lying about. Her mother's death obviously affected her, but you know T'Pol. Even if she's devastated, she'll try her best not to show it."

Maybe not to _you,_ Trip thought.

Perhaps it was good that he had come.

Or perhaps it was very bad that he had come.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	16. Kir'Shara Conclusion

**Disclaimers,** etc. in Part I.

**Author's Note: **And here's the second and concluding part of Kir'Shara. I have to get my garden and my grading and life in general caught up this weekend, so hopefully posting this tonight will help me avoid too much hanging about with Trip and T'Pol, whose chores are all fictional. Many thanks as always, reviewers! (And thanks for the now-incorporated edits, Sedri!)

* * *

Soval just behind him, Kotok stepped into the house and took in the scene in one grand sweep: T'Pol was sitting stiffly on one bench in the living room, listening to remembrances from a group that had arranged themselves on the opposite bench. Another group of adults waited for their turn, and a couple with two sober children in tow were helping themselves to refreshments at the kitchen counter. Some of the adults had that slight flare of individuality in their fashion that Kotok generally associated with academy faculty. The others were presumably neighbors or family.

The nondescript cousin from the wedding was apparently attending to both the door and the kitchen. He followed her, ignoring the others already there, since he didn't know them and there was no logic in pressing the acquaintance. "Where is Koss?" he asked.

Her eyes grew large. "He was called away."

Kotok frowned. This was not as it should be, even if only for appearance's sake.

He saw T'Pol look up and notice him, stiffening slightly as she did so. She also nodded minutely at Soval, and then her eyes turned to the door, almost as if she knew who would be next - and, indeed, Tucker stepped in at that very moment. He stopped short and a long look was exchanged between them.

So apparently little had changed there.

Archer, coming in last, put his hand on Tucker's shoulder and gently pushed him forward, towards the water. "Have some water, Trip," he said, and poured him a glass.

Tucker drank one glass, and then another, and stared down at the empty glass as the group that was sitting with T'Pol rose to leave and the one that had been waiting took its place. The family shifted over as well. Archer took a drink of water himself and turned to survey the scene with a confidence that was in sharp contrast to Tucker's apparent discomfort.

Archer was known for his confidence, of course, but perhaps Surak's _katra_ was lending him some as well?

It was a mind-boggling idea - that the father of Vulcan logic could somehow still exist as a conscious entity eighteen hundred years later - and even though he knew the Syrranites were convinced of this, Kotok was still skeptical. He wished he could meld with Archer himself to verify the matter personally, but one could hardly ask such a thing.

Soval said to him, "I was hoping to meet your son."

"So was I," Kotok said.

Tucker flashed a curious look at them, then turned to watch T'Pol, who was sitting, straight and dispassionate, receiving yet another set of condolences.

Kotok saw the other two men watching Tucker watch T'Pol, and swallowed a sigh. His son must have finally given up hope, or he would not have left his wife alone at a time like this.

Perhaps it was just as well. The marriage, such as it was, had served its immediate purpose. It was regrettable that T'Pol had chosen such a difficult path, but he had surely done all he reasonably could to honor his connection to her father.

And, in any case, who could know with any certainty what the future might hold? It was possible that having a fellow Vulcan working so closely among the Humans might work to Vulcan's advantage someday.

T'Pau was already lobbying hard to let the Humans move ahead without oversight from the High Command. Indeed, she was lobbying hard for the _abolishment_ of the High Command. Despite T'Les's assurances that T'Pau sincerely wanted only what was best for Vulcan, Kotok had his doubts. In his opinion, T'Pau had just as much of a tendency towards ruthlessness and nativist arrogance as V'Las, and was more dangerous because she had a rather sharper mind. But perhaps the fact that she owed her current rise to power to a Human would rein in those impulses.

He hoped it was a good sign and not just a turn towards isolationism that she now favored letting the Humans move on without Vulcan oversight. It was long past time for that – conflict with their closest ally was only going to increase if Vulcan continued to try to hold the Humans back. It made more sense to let go and attempt to exercise influence instead.

Perhaps, in honor of this new paradigm, he should apply the same principle to his own family, and let Koss know that he was free to determine his own best path.

x x x

T'Pol's comfortable cocoon of numbness cracked unpleasantly the moment Trip walked in the door.

Why was he here? Had he felt her need? But then Archer came in as well, and she realized that both men were probably just hewing to custom.

Very well. She was quite practiced at that by now. And custom, she had begun to realize, existed precisely to guide one through difficult times in life, like the loss of one's mother and all one's certainties about what it meant to be Vulcan.

Since her release from a holding cell at the High Command, custom had dictated every move. And in this, Koss had been quite patient and helpful. He had taken her to the solicitor to hear T'Les's will – though it was clear that at least one provision in it had disturbed him – and he had helped her and her cousin prepare the house for visitors. He had sat at her side all morning as she received her mother's relatives, colleagues and neighbors, until a call had arrived from the capitol.

"T'Pau has requested an immediate meeting with me," he said. "Why would she do that?"

"I have no idea," T'Pol said. It was a very odd thing to request, if T'Pau knew - as she must - that he would be sitting in mourning with her today.

"Perhaps it concerns the transporter code. She may consider me a security risk."

"Transporter code?" T'Pol said.

"Would you object to my leaving? I will return when I can."

"I do not object," she said, still puzzled. Koss was simply an architect, wasn't he? Unfortunately, she could hardly ask for more details with so many people waiting to speak with her.

That had been over two hours ago. Now, the little cluster of her mother's colleagues was replaced by a neighboring family she had never met. They grieved with her, and she assured them that her mother had thought highly of them, although in this case she actually had no idea if that was true. It was what one said.

After they departed, Kotok came and sat in front of her. "I grieve with thee," he said.

"I know my mother thought highly of you," she said.

"Where is Koss?"

"T'Pau called him to a meeting."

Kotok's eyebrow rose. "_Today?_ Why?"

"I don't know. However, he mentioned a transporter code."

Kotok's face darkened. "Oh."

T'Pau was certainly independent enough to disregard custom if it didn't suit her timetable or her fierce brand of logic. She had melded with T'Pol, she claimed, to cure the Pa'Nar Syndrome, and to allow T'Pol to experience at least a taste of what T'Les had shared with her: love and concern for her daughter, anxiety about the future of Vulcan, an abiding desire for the truth that was perhaps the one trait they most shared. T'Pol appreciated that act of compassion, but T'Pau had also taken advantage of the access she had been given to rifle through T'Pol's memories. She had obviously wanted to evaluate Archer's trustworthiness, as well as T'Pol's potential usefulness.

Archer might have passed muster, but_ she_ hadn't.

T'Pau's lip had curled faintly as she remarked, "For reasons quite unique to your own experience, you appear to have lost any real sense of what it means to be Vulcan. With great effort, you _might _recover your way. No doubt it would honor your mother's memory to try."

T'Pol had felt an icy sort of rage. "Do you have a more specific recommendation?"

"Yes. Resign your commission with these Humans and begin _Kohlinar_."

"Like the monks of P'Jem?"

T'Pau had accepted her sarcasm without blinking. "Perhaps when it is translated, the Kir'Shara will have useful advice for you. I can see you have little interest in mine."

"Live long and prosper, T'Pol," Kotok said now, with an oddly final tone. Soval sat down in his place. T'Pol looked up to see Trip watching her, but he averted his eyes quickly.

Still not forgiven, then. She took a careful breath, trying to gain the proper objective distance, trying not to let her rage at him for what felt like an ongoing betrayal rise to a level that would let everyone in the room notice just how tenuously she was maintaining her emotional control.

How she would have appreciated unstinting support from Trip at a time like this. Koss, in contrast, had fulfilled his duties as a husband without hesitation or complaint, despite the many difficulties she had thrown in the way of their relationship.

It appeared, therefore, that Koss was actually far more patient and tolerant than Trip. It was also likely that Koss would wear much better over the next hundred and fifty years than a Human would.

Too bad she still felt nothing for him and everything for Trip.

"I grieve with thee," Soval said.

"I know my mother thought highly of you," T'Pol said.

x x x

"We're going to do this together, right?" Trip said to Jon. They were standing in what he'd begun to think of as the batter's box. Two other groups of Vulcans had come in behind them, and lined up accordingly.

"You sure you want to do it that way?" Jon said.

"Yep."

Jon put a hand on Trip's shoulder and Trip felt the oddest sensation, as if a benediction of some kind were washing over him. He looked sharply at Jon. "Cap'n?"

Jon's green eyes looked serenely back at him. "You must cast out fear."

Trip felt a chill. That didn't sound anything like Jon. "_Cap'n?_"

Jon blinked and grinned crookedly at him. "Not to worry, Trip, I'm still here. Come on, we're up."

They sat down in front of T'Pol. "I think we're supposed to say that we grieve with you," Archer said. "And we do, of course."

"The rest of the crew does too," Trip said. "Hoshi and Malcolm in particular wanted to be sure I mentioned that."

"That is kind of them," T'Pol said. "They never met my mother, but I know she thought well of both of you. I am pleased that she had the opportunity to meet you both." Her eyes met Trip's only briefly and settled on the captain. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Hanging in," Archer said. "The priests think they'll have this thing figured out in another day or two. How about you?"

"I am fine."

There was a short silence.

Archer said, "Where is Koss? I wanted to thank him."

"Thank him?" T'Pol said, and Trip wondered just what the man could possibly need thanking for.

"When I told him your life was in danger, he gave us the transporter code into the High Command," Archer said. "I don't think any of us would be here right now if he hadn't."

Kotok, who had been standing and waiting with Soval within easy earshot, said, "That was a major breach of security by my son, Captain. You're not even a Vulcan citizen."

"T'Pau was with me," Jon said.

"Even worse," Kotok said. "At the time, I believe she was a wanted criminal."

The conversation stalled again, as Trip reflected irritably that Koss had actually risked something to serve the greater good, or at least to save T'Pol. It wasn't how he preferred to think of him.

T'Pol's mouth twitched. "My mother amended her will before she went into the Forge, Commander Tucker. She left something to you."

_"Me?"_

"She noted that my father's formal robes fit you well. They are yours if you would like them."

_Those_ robes? Was T'Les trying to torture him from the grave?

Soval said, "That is a great honor, Commander. The customary response would be to accept immediately."

Of course it was. He was damned sick of all these Vulcan customs and their damned requirements. He took a deep breath. "I'm honored to accept them, then." He turned to Archer. "It'll make a change from the Hawaiian shirt."

"In that case, we must _all _be grateful to my mother," T'Pol said.

Archer snickered, and even Trip couldn't help but smile. It was a little taste of their old camaraderie.

As quickly as it had come, though, it was gone. "The robes are still hanging in the guest room," she said. "You can collect them before you go." She made no move to rise herself.

On the day of her wedding, she had pursued him into the room as he collected his bags and attempted to embrace him, forcing him to awkwardly disentangle himself. But Trip had never seen her look quite as still and planted in place as she did now. The word "go" hung in the air between them, faintly hostile.

Archer said, "T'Pol, you _are_ returning to _Enterprise_?"

T'Pol hesitated.

Oh no, Trip thought. Here it comes. The big Vulcan kiss-off. And even though he knew he ought to want her to stay here now, out of his hair and out of harm's way, happily married to a stand-up guy and raising beautiful 100% Vulcan children, he nonetheless inhaled sharply in anticipation of this final loss.

And then she glanced at him, and held that glance for just a moment too long, and said, as if she also suspected she was making absolutely the wrong decision, "I plan to return to the ship as soon as my duties here are concluded."

"Great!" Archer said.

Kotok folded his arms. Soval lifted an eyebrow.

And Trip let out the breath he had been holding and – foolish as he was - felt slightly dizzy with relief_._

This wasn't over yet.

x x x

Koss left the council chamber and went straight to Mount Seleya.

A dutiful husband would return to his wife's side, but he couldn't do that. Not now.

"Your wife is bonded to the Human," T'Pau had told him.

"That is absurd," Koss said. "_I_ am bonded with her."

T'Pau raised a severe eyebrow. "No, you are _married_ to her. I can only hope that when the Kir'Shara is translated, more Vulcans will rediscover the ancient wisdom of our people. Surely you have at least _heard _of the mate bond."

Of course he had _heard_ of it, but then again, that was supposed to have begun in childhood, and as far as he could tell their betrothal had merely consisted of a rather perfunctory ceremony – not unlike the actual wedding. When his time had come and T'Pol was unavailable, he had accepted other women without difficulty, and he was quite sure he had not 'bonded' to _them_ in any significant way, despite the quite vigorous and repeated mating involved.

She said, "This is not mere supposition on my part, Koss. I have shared T'Pol's thoughts."

Koss knew that according to Syrranite doctrine, mind melding was a normal activity for Vulcans, but he nonetheless felt an instinctive disgust at the idea – disgust, and a touch of excitement, as well. It certainly suggested a shocking degree of intimacy. Still… "You are quite young," he said. "How can you be certain you fully understand a mate bond if you have not yet experienced one yourself?"

Her eyes flashed. "There is no mistaking the existence of a true mate bond."

"And if she had one, then how could she possibly agree to marry me – and how could _he_ allow it?"

"Obviously, he's _Human_. The Human brain is demonstrably more limited than ours. Nor do they apply the training and discipline that would be required to maximize even the capabilities they _do_ have. Therefore the bond she shares with her Human is puny and unsatisfying by _our _standards. Indeed, it is so weak that she often doubts whether it exists at all. However, in her, at least, the attachment has formed. I doubt that anything short of his death will end it."

"Because he is Human, he will most likely die long before I do."

She frowned. "Where is the logic in waiting sixty or seventy more years to claim your wife as your own? And until then? Would you force yourself on a woman who doesn't want you?"

Koss repressed a growl of frustration. Wouldn't the _pon farr_ resolve that issue for them? His earlier sexual partners had not seemed particularly unwilling, and they were not bonded to him.

Not for the first time, he wished T'Pol _had _declared kal-li-fee. It would have allowed him to simply kill Tucker then and there. Of course, that was a barbaric thought.

T'Pau said, "I asked you here because I am grateful to you for your assistance in stopping V'Las. All Vulcan is in your debt. We will find you a more suitable mate. There is no need for you to endure this sham marriage any longer."

"This 'sham' marriage was arranged by my parents. It is their decision."

"Your father will see reason," T'Pau said. "I have no doubt of that."

Koss didn't doubt that T'Pau could persuade her father if she had enough political weight behind her. In any case, there was clearly little point in arguing with her. He bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment and left, feeling profoundly unsettled.

He didn't want a "more suitable" mate. He wanted the woman who had been promised to him. T'Pol was beautiful and intelligent and possessed a fierce spirit. Making her his would take time, but it would be the accomplishment of a lifetime. He could already see that she was appreciative of his help. Surely, given time, they could develop mutual respect and true affection for each other?

She could hardly long for her unsatisfactory Human _forever_.

He lit a candle and lowered himself to the mat provided. Mount Seleya was a haven for quiet meditation. He would meditate. Perhaps he would even consult one of the priests.

He decided that he would send no message to his wife. She was a resourceful woman. If she sought him during his absence, that would be a hopeful sign that they might yet overcome this difficult beginning.

x x x

Koss never returned. This was rather odd and perhaps even a touch worrisome, but there was little T'Pol felt she could do about it, so once the proscribed period of receiving visitors had ended, she and her cousin T'Mar packed any remaining personal effects for storage and then she left T'Mar in possession of the house. While T'Pol would maintain her right of claim, there was little logic in letting the house stand empty when other members of her mother's clan could use it. Besides, even if she returned in a year, it would most likely be to Koss's household.

Back on _Enterprise_, she went to Phlox and told him what T'Pau claimed to have done about the Pa'Nar Syndrome.

"Excellent!" Phlox said.

"Is it possible for you to confirm that the damage has been repaired?" T'Pol said.

"It should be," he said, and suggested a scan in the imaging chamber.

When she came out, he said, "Your neurolytic enzymes look perfectly normal. That's exactly what I would have hoped to see." He looked at her a little more closely, and said, "Do you have any reason to doubt what T'Pau told you?"

"No." T'Pol was reluctant to share her private doubts about Vulcan's new leader. Syrranites didn't lie, they claimed. Perhaps it was true. Certainly T'Pau hadn't hesitated to share the brutal truth.

Phlox smiled. "We'll check again in a week. If there are no changes, I think you can safely assume you are indeed cured. And that would be very good news."

"Thank you, doctor," she said, and then she went directly to her quarters.

If she was cured, why was she still feeling so profoundly unsettled?

Ensign Sato called her. "You have a personal message from Vulcan," she said.

"I'll take it here," T'Pol said. Perhaps it would be Koss with an explanation for his disappearance.

x x x

"Congratulations on not having any ancient Vulcans in your head anymore," Trip said, raising his glass of beer in a toast. They had broken out a football game neither had seen yet.

"Thanks," Jon said, and raised his own. "I kind of miss the old guy, actually. I felt so damned _wise_ for awhile there. Also, I could read ancient Vulcan."

"Yeah, well … just don't tell me to 'cast out fear' again anytime soon. It was creepy."

"It's good advice, though," Jon said, and shrugged. "I'd probably put it differently, though."

"No kidding. '_Man up, Trip! Don't be such a pansy ass_'!"

Jon chuckled. "I don't think I've ever had to tell you _that_. At least, not in regard to anything that was any of my business to begin with. Speaking of which … I assume you've heard about our first officer's marriage?"

Trip felt his stomach drop. "What about it?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No." T'Pol had been pretty much ensconced in her quarters since her return - not that they exactly hung out together anymore, anyway.

"Koss released her from the marriage. Apparently it will take awhile to become official, but … it's over."

Trip said nothing for a full minute. He couldn't believe _Jon_ was the one telling him this. "When did you hear that?"

"Last night, when I went to her quarters to check in with her."

"Was she all right?"

"As far as I can tell," Jon said. "She was pretty much in full Vulcan mode."

"In that case I'm surprised she'd even tell you."

"Well, I asked about him. He'd gotten permission to come up to the ship and visit her."

"Oh." Trip felt profoundly nonplussed. Why hadn't _she_ told him?

_Because you told her to leave you alone_, _you nitwit._

"Look, I'm not going to encourage you to go work out whatever it is you need to work out with her," Jon said. "Because, frankly, it's probably better for all concerned if I don't know anything about it."

Trip eyed him. Okay, message received.

"But I think you know what _Surak _would say," Jon said, with a little smile, and raised his beer again.

Trip clinked glasses with him, and drank down the remainder of his beer in three gulps. He could use another … or something stronger, for that matter. "You got any bourbon around here?" he asked. Easy for _Surak _to say "Cast out fear." Surak was Vulcan. He'd never had to find a date a Saturday night, let alone deal with a close colleague who felt he had rejected her.

Archer looked sideways at him. "How about just another beer?"

"If that's all you've got."

Maybe she just needed some time to process everything. Her mother had just died, her husband had just dumped her, and her planet had just undergone a major upheaval. Maybe she'd return to him when she was ready.

Or maybe she never would.

But she was here, wasn't she? She could have decided to stay behind on Vulcan.

Trip bit his lip and drank the new beer Archer had poured him and pretended to watch the football game.

What was he supposed to do? Go to T'Pol and say, "Hey, I hear you've been released from the sham marriage you chose over me. That's great news! Want to take up shagging each other again?"

Hadn't he been telling himself for weeks that he was better off without her?

His heart, of course, kept insisting otherwise. But his heart was stupid. There was documented evidence of _that._

He sighed.

Maybe, for now, he'd just wait and see what happened.


	17. Daedalus

**SPOILERS:** "Daedalus" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Daedalus" was written by Ken LaZebnik and Michael Bryant.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This chapter just gives us some interior reflection for our heroes as they process the already quite sufficient number of painful TnT scenes in "Daedalus." Sorry about that, but given what I have to work with, it's just angst, angst, and angst … although you might be at least a little entertained by T'Pol's Vulcan perspective on Human relationships.

A great big thank you as always, dear reviewers.

* * *

She was fine. She was truly fine. Trip didn't seem to understand that as a Vulcan she should be able to soberly analyze all the factors involved the loss of her mother and put that unavoidable pain in its proper perspective – where it could no longer affect her.

And this she had done.

It had not been easy, of course. Among the factors in dealing with her mother's death was a certain degree of shame that she had chosen to go with the captain instead of her mother – and, worse, that she had told her mother she wanted nothing more to do with her.

But she knew T'Les forgave her. So it was pointless to become preoccupied with regret.

Of course, she was relieved they'd had that moment together at the end. She was also pleased that her mother had told her she was proud of her. T'Pol had never really believed that, at least not in recent years, but T'Les _had_ said it with her dying breaths.

T'Pau had also shared her mother's thoughts with her, and so T'Pol knew that T'Les's pride was sincere. Knowing that was a fair trade, she supposed, for the many less pleasant aspects of that mind meld.

T'Pol was also fine about the end of her marriage. It was a bit ironic that it had occurred at the exact moment when she had begun to seriously consider the potential advantages of the match, but it was not as if she genuinely wanted Koss, so she could hardly grieve losing him.

Perhaps she simply wasn't fated to marry. Not doing so would obviously leave more time for exploration and reflection and the true mastery of emotion.

Given that she could now hope to live a normal Vulcan life span, and given the reality that Trip had already walked away from their relationship once, she saw little logic in renewing their intimacy now. Anything they shared would be transitory at best.

She could still 'feel' a connection to him, especially when he was having a strong emotional reaction to something. There had been that distinctive surge of fury at the captain recently. And then, of course, there had been his pain when she'd talked to him about her new priorities - even though he'd smiled and joked about his engines as if it didn't bother him at all.

The difference between Trip's inner and outer aspects could be startling. Sometimes it made her wonder how often she had totally misread his feelings in the past.

Struck by his inner reaction, she had actually experienced some doubts about her course; for a moment, she had even considered turning around and telling him that she … what? That she would come to movie night, because she wanted him to stop feeling bad, because it pained her to know that he was suffering?

But that would have been ridiculous.

Trip's pain would fade away. He was Human. He would move on. Indeed, this would most likely happen even if they were together. Someday he would get restless, and then he would either leave her, or wish that he could. It was what Humans did. Even if he didn't allow himself to indulge that impulse, how could she bear the knowledge that he felt confined? A Human partner could live in ignorance of such feelings, but she could not fail to notice them. And it seemed, based on what she had read, that most if not all Human males coped with such feelings eventually. The females, as well. Indeed, she had noticed that an entire genre of literature was devoted to suggesting various techniques couples could try to promote a sense of 'variety' and 'newness' in longstanding relationships, as if this was required if there was any hope of making them last. There was a general horror of the 'stale' and the 'routine.'

To T'Pol, this strategy sounded exhausting and essentially self-defeating. There were only so many ways any two people could relate to each other without getting into some rather strange behaviors (and, indeed, there was significant evidence of that in the Human databases).

Furthermore, routine was the basis of all Vulcan discipline.

So it was better to leave things as they were.

Unfortunately, despite all her efforts in meditation and reflection, she was still far less certain about the matter than she should be.

x x x

He was fine. He was really fine. He'd already realized he didn't have a shot with T'Pol anymore … all the signs had been there. At least she'd finally put it to him straight, instead of just avoiding the issue.

When he'd said to Emory, "I _have_ lost someone close, and I'd do almost anything to get her back," he'd been talking about Lizzie. But then Emory had continued on about how much he missed arguing with his son, and that was when Trip realized that what he'd said to Emory could apply just as well to T'Pol.

And that he also missed arguing with her.

She was just too damned logical to even _want_ to argue anymore, unless it truly was over a point of ship's business in which they held a genuine disagreement, and that didn't happen very often. He and she had worked together for years; they could predict each other's next steps; they hardly _needed_ to interact at all unless there was some crisis involved. In recent months he and T'Pol had gotten in the habit of contacting each other through subordinates, or through dry, work-focused messages, and it had worked without a hitch.

He'd tried to let her know they didn't have to do it that way anymore, now that the marriage was ending. He'd thought it was a good sign that she'd brought the power conversion tables to him in person. But then she'd slammed that door in his face, just like she had during his attempt to discuss her loss of her mother. Ultimately she'd come and notified him, a little more gently, that the door was simply officially closed and would stay that way for the foreseeable future.

Perhaps he should be grateful she'd been so straightforward about it. That was fairly unlike her. Perhaps this was what her precious _Kir'Shara_ had told her to do: be kind to the lesser beings. Or perhaps she'd simply gotten irritated by his awkward attempts and realized he required the direct approach.

So, fine. He was fine.

After all, all the reasons why they wouldn't make a successful couple still stood … all of them except her marriage, anyway.

But really, even _that_ still stood. She _had_ chosen that marriage over him, after all. Hadn't he called it the ultimate deal-breaker? Why should its pending dissolution make any difference now?

His big mistake was attempting to re-ignite something. All that had done was open him up to that lovely sound of doors slamming in the face all over again.

So, whatever. He was a grown man. He'd cope. He'd do his job. He'd think about his engines. He loved his engines. They never let him down.

Trip sighed. The hardest times for him were the quiet times, like now, when he was lying in bed at night trying to fall asleep, or when he woke from a bad dream. That was when her absence felt _cruel._

Too bad he couldn't work on his engines 24 hours a day.


	18. Observer Effect

**SPOILERS:** "Observer Effect" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Observer Effect" was written by Judith Reeves-Stevens and Garfield Reeves-Stevens.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This episode has inspired so much fanfic, including at least one previous entry of my own. Hopefully I'm not overlapping too much with that or with anyone else's. A great big thank you to you lovely reviewers: you definitely help keep me plugging away through all the angst of Season 4.

* * *

When she went to the mess hall late that night for a cup of chamomile tea, Trip was there, sitting alone in a table far from the door, with a cup of milk and a piece of pie sitting untouched in front of him.

She got her tea and went and sat down without asking his permission. "Can't sleep?" she said.

He gave her a half-smile. "Nope. I'm not tired. Apparently nearly dying can be quite restful."

She said nothing, unpleasantly reminded of what had transpired earlier.

"The thing is," he said, "I'm not sure what to think about it. You'd think a brush with death would have some pretty profound effects, you know? Probably I _ought_ to be all charged up to make the most of all this extra time I suddenly have left, but instead I'm just … I don't know." He shook his head. "Feeling a little at loose ends, I guess."

It was an odd colloquialism – an obscure reference to poor tailoring, perhaps? – but she thought she understood it. "Perhaps you've already had too many brushes with death."

He snorted. "Perhaps."

She waited, hoping that he would explain. He'd been avoiding her, which was understandable. While she still felt certain that she needed time and space to reflect on what it meant to be her mother's daughter, watching him die had wrenched her in ways she couldn't even begin to understand. All she knew was that it was a comfort, now, simply to hear his voice.

"At first, I was thinking how lonely it was," he said. "Nothing against Hoshi, because she was good company – when she wasn't breaking out of decon, anyway – but you want your loved ones around at a time like that. I was literally wishing my mom was there to soothe my fevered brow. Or…" He broke off, suddenly sounding a little choked, and looked away from her. He shook his head.

"I wanted to visit you, Trip, but I felt that working with Phlox to find a cure was a higher priority."

He looked confused. "I know. But you did visit."

She stared at him. "I did not."

"Of course you did. I remember it vividly. The first time was really kind of strange. It was like you and Phlox were administering some sort of weird-ass questionnaire about being sick."

"You must have been hallucinating."

"Aren't there recordings? Review them. You came down with Phlox. Hoshi thought it was strange, too." He sighed. "Travis and Malcolm were creeping us out, too, for that matter. Everyone except the cap'n. I don't know. Maybe when you're that sick everybody just _seems_ creepy."

"I will review our recordings," she said, "If only to prove to you that I never had the time to spare." She had thought she might, at one point, while they were waiting for test results, but then all that time had suddenly passed. It had been a terrible realization.

"Anyway, it's not like you weren't there again at the end." He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. "And that meant a lot to me."

"What are you talking about?"

Now he stared at her. "Are you going to tell me I hallucinated that, too? You were there. You and the cap'n."

"The captain _was_ with you. I was on the bridge."

He stared at her for a moment, and then the line of his mouth tightened. "Okay, maybe I _did_ hallucinate _that._ I thought it was…" He shook his head. "Apparently if you deprive my brain of oxygen, it starts to imagine all sorts of things that are…" He sighed. "…Completely out of character for you." He looked away, blinking.

"Trip, surely you know that I would experience your death as a significant loss." She had been waiting so intently on the bridge that she almost remembered it as if she _were_ there with him; she could still remember that moment of darkness and terror when she realized he was no longer there in her arms.

_In her arms? _

But she had been on the bridge. And Trip _hadn't_ died.

She lifted her hands and stared at them, perplexed by the strange double-memory.

He didn't appear to notice her confusion. He said, "You know, I think I'm tired after all." He stood and delivered a gruesome imitation of a smile. "Good night."

"Good night," she said softly, still confused - and uncomfortably conscious that once again she had disappointed him.

x x x

When T'Pol went to review the recordings, there were none.

"What do you mean?" Reed asked her, when she pursued her investigation further. "The entire last _year _of recordings should be available."

"The record is blank from the moment the Commander and Ensign Sato arrived to the time they left for sickbay – which also has no recordings of what transpired."

"Sickbay recordings are stored separately. They wouldn't be accessible except through Phlox."

"I know. Phlox checked. There's nothing."

"That makes no sense. Let me look into it."

"I'll await your report."

x x x

Reed could not find any recordings or any answers. What's more, as he conducted follow-up interviews, he discovered that he and Ensign Mayweather, the captain, and Dr Phlox, like T'Pol, had experienced similar sensations of lost time. Furthermore, Ensign Sato corroborated Tucker's recollection of "creepy" visits from officers who had no memory of making them.

"Obviously, this suggests the possibility of possession by some sort of alien presence," Reed said, in the senior staff meeting where he was making his report. "It's not as if we haven't experienced that before."

"Wonderful," Archer said, and frowned at T'Pol. "Could a mind meld shed any light on this?"

Tucker, glowering, looked up from the situation table display. "A mind meld with _whom?_"

Reed shifted uncomfortably. "I can't say I'm terribly comfortable with that idea."

"Nor am I," T'Pol said. "I also fail to see how it would be of any help."

Archer said, "I don't like the idea that we're completely helpless in the face of such … invasions."

"Indeed," she said. "Fortunately, if we _were_ invaded, it was apparently by a species that ultimately acted with mercy. After all, Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato were returned to life. You were also saved from near-certain death, Captain."

Archer grimaced. "Are you saying don't look a miracle recovery in the mouth?"

"No," T'Pol said, nonplussed. Bizarre colloquialism aside, hadn't she specifically asked Lieutenant Reed to investigate the matter?

"I must say," Phlox said, "This is an explanation that makes much more sense than a spillover effect from Commander Tucker's treatment … especially since he developed none of the expected side-effects. Indeed, after further investigation, it appears to me that both he and Ensign Sato are in strikingly better health _now_ than they were before this happened."

Neither Sato nor Tucker reacted to Phlox's comment to any great degree, so T'Pol concluded it must not have been news to them. It was surely _good _news, in any case.

Archer massaged his temples. "I feel as if I _ought_ to know what happened. I was _there._"

Tucker exchanged an impatient scowl with Ensign Sato, his comrade in mortal illness, and T'Pol felt a pang of pure loss. Once, he would have directed that look at her.

The only explanation she could think of for what he had described and she had then half-remembered – her presence at his death – was the mating bond. But if her mother and Kotok and the _Kir'Shara _were to be believed – and this was turning out to be an area of no little controversy on Vulcan – the bond between her and Trip appeared to be only a pale imitation of what fully bonded Vulcan mates experienced. Indeed, her flashes of connection with him were so sporadic and unreliable that it was all but impossible to distinguish them from supposition or wishful thinking.

Perhaps this was a limitation created by the limited psychic ability of her Human partner. Or perhaps it reflected the shallow quality of Trip's attachment to her, especially now.

She could sense that he was beginning to resent her, especially now that it was not his own scruples but _her _uncertainty about her proper path in life that was keeping them apart. Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, his eyes flickered towards her briefly, and his expression darkened.

Archer dismissed them, and she returned to her post. Tucker left for engineering without so much as a glance at her.

He had certainly believed her when she said she wasn't there with him at the end.

She swallowed. Should she tell him about her double_-_memory? Should she tell him about the bond? Should she confess to him that despite his dogged attempts to avoid some strange alien commitment he absolutely hadn't wanted, she'd nonetheless, in her Trellium-D-fueled haze, saddled him with a psychic connection to her… and then gone ahead and married someone else?

Should she tell him about the feeble psychic link that apparently existed between them, even though with sufficient time and distance it would most likely fade away – at least for him?

For perhaps the first time, she thought she completely understood the pain and anger Trip was feeling. Fundamentally, it didn't matter how much logic and meditation one employed: nothing hurt more than being rejected by the person one cared about most.

Nothing except, perhaps, being actively _hated_ by him.

So it would probably be better to say nothing.


	19. Babel One

**SPOILERS:** "Babel One" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Babel One" was written by Mike Sussman and André Bormanis.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I'm afraid it's just a short one here, because there was only one piece of missing TnT business in this episode that I was really interested in. Many thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

As T'Pol ducked through the door into Engineering she reflected, with just the tiniest little flutter of misgiving, that obtaining a status report from Commander Tucker was a task she could have much more efficiently accomplished over the comm.

But of course that was not really why she was here.

Trip was huddled over a padd with Crewman Rodriguez, but looked up as she arrived. He always seemed to know when she had come into a room; perhaps it was a benefit of their remaining bond, however tenuous it might be. "Commander," he said. "How can I help you?"

"The captain has requested a status report."

He told his companion, "Why don't you get started with this? I'll be over in a minute."

Crewman Rodriguez nodded and walked off with the padd. Trip gave her a tight smile. "Hull plating is technically at 100 percent again, but until we can get in there and replace some sections, I don't have much confidence that the dorsal plates will take a beating. Malcolm's aware of that already."

"And the warp drive? Can we maintain this speed indefinitely?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. She's purring like a kitten." He started walking back to his little desk area. "That's a good thing, in case you're not up on kittens. If you can stand by a moment I'll check our progress on the other damage." He opened a report on his computer screen and started scanning it. As he read, he said, "On the off chance you haven't heard it already, the Tellarites are claiming the mud bath we made for them is too small, too cold, and doesn't have the right kind of mud."

"Yes, Ambassador Gral already shared that particular complaint with the captain."

"I don't plan to lose too much sleep over it."

"That is understandable."

She watched as he expanded a few items on the list, his tongue lodged in his cheek as he concentrated on the screen. "Everything else that's left is pretty minor. I think it will be another day or two before we've completed everything on the list, but it's all small potatoes – minor stuff."

"Very well," she said. Was it courtesy on his part that he was suddenly explaining his colorful metaphors, or was he thinking of her as more alien than he had in the past?

Perhaps he was simply trying to keep this encounter as short as possible.

He straightened. "If that's all, then—"

"—I received word from Koss this morning. The marriage is officially over."

A varied train of emotions quickly crossed his face before settling into polite wariness. "I'm sorry."

_Sorry? _Was this some sort of required formality? Honestly puzzled, she said, "Why are you sorry?"

He shook his head slightly, the way he sometimes did when faced with something that didn't make sense to him. "Why are you even telling me this?"

Why indeed? "It occurred to me that news of this kind is likely to spread quickly. I thought it was possible you would prefer to hear it from me rather than someone else."

"Oh." He folded his arms across his chest. "Well, yeah, you're right. Thanks." He had obviously not taken any pleasure in her news. If anything, it appeared to have sparked some pain or at least a sense of renewed vulnerability in him. "If we're done here, I need to get back to Alex."

"Yes, we're done," she said heavily, and Trip wasted no time in leaving her.

But what had she expected?

Joy? Relief? At least a flicker of renewed interest?

As she left engineering and headed back to the bridge, it occurred to her that the embrace of logic felt much more satisfying when applied in a situation of choice, as when she _could_ have resumed her relationship with Trip, but had chosen not to – at least not immediately.

She was still certain that this decision had been the best, most logical choice for both of them, even if it had been a difficult one.

But now there was no choice. Even if Trip still cared for her – and she was sure that he still felt some affection for her, even if it had become inextricably mixed with much darker emotions – he did not appear to be even the least bit interested in reviving their relationship.

That was still for the best, of course.

Yet that logic was cold comfort now.


	20. United

**SPOILERS:** "United" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "United" was written by Manny Coto, Judith Reeves-Stevens and Garfield Reeves-Stevens.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I'm covering some of the same ground that Drogna already did quite nicely in her series that begins with "Contamination" (available at this web site – just use the search function). Like her, I can't help wanting to make some sort of faintly plausible connection between a Trip who passed out from radiation poisoning (a death sentence in the real world) with the guy we later see horsing around with Malcolm, especially since in the next episode he appears to be recovering from a serious illness and at about as low an ebb as we ever see him. Making all this plausible isn't actually possible, of course, but I gave it the old college try, complete with outrageous pseudo-medical technobabble. I can only beg your indulgence on that. Many thanks as always, reviewers! A Happy Easter to those who celebrate the holiday.

* * *

In the decon shower, after joking around with Malcolm – he really was _such_ an easy target - a terrible prickling chill suddenly enveloped Trip. Without time even to think "I'm going to be sick," he was on his hands and knees, vomiting.

He retched again and again, until there was little more coming up than blood. As each bright red drop hit the wet floor of the shower it blossomed pink and then ran towards the drain in bands that reminded him vaguely of the dust rings on Jupiter.

"Trip!" he heard Malcolm say, as if from very far away, and then the water was turned off, and he was being toweled off and dragged into decon proper. He lay on the floor and spat out more blood. It didn't wash away on the dry floor, just collected in a nasty clotting puddle.

They were talking about him, but Trip was too ill and too preoccupied to follow the conversation. How could he have felt so fine one moment and so like death the next?

He _had _passed out from radiation. He'd known at the time that meant he was as good as dead. But then, somehow, his adrenaline had kicked in, and carried him home, and then … what? Had he simply gone into denial?

He hoped Malcolm would be all right. He must have gotten exposed to some radiation, too, though not nearly as much, of course. Not a fatal dose, hopefully.

Not like his.

He'd sure as hell been dying a lot lately. Maybe this time it would finally stick.

Would she even miss him?

Vaguely, he felt the hiss of a hypo spray against his neck, and then the light went, and then the rest.

x x x

"How is Commander Tucker?" T'Pol asked.

Phlox looked up from the screen he was reading intently. He'd already stabilized his patient, but he wanted to make sure he hadn't missed out on any recent new treatments for ionizing radiation exposure in Humans.

Somehow Phlox wasn't surprised to see her there in the middle of ship's night, long after visits by Archer and Reed and Sato and others, all wanting to know about Tucker. "As I hope the captain told you, he'll survive, but I'm keeping him in a coma for now while he recovers from the worst of it." He decided it would be best not to describe Tucker's symptoms or treatment in all its gory detail. Of course, knowing T'Pol, she had probably already researched the matter. Indeed, she was probably wondering why the prognosis was so unaccountably good.

What T'Pol couldn't know and Phlox would just as soon she _never_ knew was that he had quietly saved a bank of tissue and body parts from Sim in stasis for just such a crisis as this. Without that ready supply of what were essentially his own healthy tissues, Tucker would indeed be dead or dying now.

The easy part had been the cleaning and filtering of the commander's blood; it was also easy, thanks to Sim, to supply new blood cells and immune factors that would help Tucker's body finish the job of healing itself. The rest was more labor-intensive: Phlox had transplanted Sim's lungs, trachea, esophagus and even corneas into Tucker and, after the painstaking removal of burned tissue, supplied new membranes to his breathing passages and a fresh lattice of healthy epidermis to his face and head. He'd replaced his thyroid gland, and debated replacing the pituitary, but ultimately decided in favor of watchful waiting and ongoing anti-mutagenic treatment. It had been painstaking and exhausting work. The final touch had also been simple: hair growth factor to quickly re-grow what had fallen out, hopefully before the patient could even notice it had gone. His research suggested that Humans were often greatly traumatized by hair loss, of all things, and Phlox doubted that Tucker would be an exception. (For a man forced to maintain such a short regulation cut, he clearly put quite a bit of effort into altering his natural hair color.)

As he'd worked, Phlox had reflected once again on how intimately he had been forced to become acquainted with this one young man. He'd seen him grow from a single cell into a blastocyst, a fetus, an infant, a child, a teenager, a man. He'd seen him die. He'd seen the inside and outside of practically every major organ, including the brain. He'd spent hours meticulously cleaning and replacing skin. At this point the one-sided intimacy of this relationship had taken on an almost nightmarish quality, as if the universe was saying: Oh, you're fond of this one? You thought you could save him? But can you save him from _this? _What about _this?_

"May I see him?" T'Pol asked, and Phlox blinked. He was really quite tired, although he was stills weeks from his next sleep cycle.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But you can't. He needs to stay in isolation. His immune system can't handle any exposures quite yet."

"I could put on an isolation suit."

"T'Pol, I assure you, he wouldn't even know you're there. Come back tomorrow afternoon. He'll probably be conscious by then." He'd have his hair back, too.

"The captain has requested a full analysis of all data from the drone. I may not be able to come tomorrow afternoon."

"Then I'll tell him you were here, Commander. I don't know what else I can do."

She stood there, apparently unwilling to give ground, and it suddenly occurred to him that Tucker wasn't the only one whose hair sometimes changed color. "You appear to have lightened your natural hair color quite significantly, Commander," he said. "Is that common practice among Vulcans?" It hardly seemed very logical.

T'Pol folded her arms. "Crewman Wong insists that this is the proper color for my skin tone. I have come to the conclusion that it generally requires less time and effort to allow him to do as he wishes."

"Ah," Phlox said. "Well, it does look rather fetching." Perhaps Crewman Wong was the source of Tucker's lightened hair, too? "Denobulan hair never grows beyond its natural length, so I've never needed to seek out Crewman Wong's services."

"Consider yourself fortunate."

"You wouldn't say that if you saw me during a heat wave. The shedding can get quite ridiculous."

An eyebrow went up. "I'll say good night, then, doctor."

Phlox smirked. He'd rather suspected that hair talk could chase her off.

x x x

Trip awoke to a strange white space.

"Am I dead?" he said.

"No." Her voice sounded as if it was coming from somewhere behind him, but he was too tired to move his head. "Phlox says you will fully recover."

"I don't see how."

"I don't either, yet apparently you will. That is good news, surely?"

"I guess so. I'm so tired, T'Pol."

"I know, Trip. Sleep."

_Touch me,_ he thought.

A soft brush of fingertips across the back of his head answered him, and he sighed, and slept.

x x x

The next time Trip awoke he was in decon, on a cot, under a blanket.

Phlox entered with a whoosh of changing air pressure. "You're awake!" he said jovially.

"Guess I'm not dead."

"Indeed not. You have made a rather remarkable recovery, Commander."

Trip wasn't sure what to say. _Thanks? Congratulations? _

"How do you feel?" Phlox said.

"Tired. Confused."

"That is a normal reaction. You've just experienced significant radiation poisoning, especially to the head and pulmonary system, and rather extensive surgery and therapy. It may be weeks or even months before you feel completely normal. In the meantime, you may find that your memory is somewhat impaired and your cognition slower. Your emotions may feel a little out of sorts and your impulses harder to control. You will need to be patient and give yourself time to recover."

Trip blinked. That had way more information than he could follow. "Can I still do my job?"

Phlox frowned at him. "Did you understand anything I just told you?"

"I think so." Cognition ... memory ... those were scary words. "Are you saying I can't be Chief Engineer anymore?"

Phlox shook his head. "No, I'm saying you need time to recover. At least a week, possibly longer."

"Oh." Trip sighed in relief. "Jeez, doc, you scared me. A week … that's okay. But I really don't feel _that_ bad. Are you sure it will take a whole week?"

"There are certain cognitive tests I can give you. If you score acceptably on them, and your energy level is not too low, I will allow you to resume a partial duty schedule earlier than that. I'm afraid that's the best I can offer. But why don't we see if you can simply keep down some liquids first, hmmm?"

x x x

Trip spent the next day in sickbay proper, which meant he could have visitors; it seemed as if everyone stopped in - everyone except T'Pol, though Phlox assured him that she had visited him when he was unconscious. He wondered if that was just possibly a therapeutic lie. Every time a visitor came in, Phlox made him take a walk with that person, either around sickbay or around the deck outside, to help him recover his strength and balance.

Thanks to all the comings and goings, as well as various chirps and rustlings and Phlox's intermittent off-key humming, Trip got only interrupted sleep that day and night, which perhaps contributed to his poor score the next day on Phlox's first cognitive test.

"What if I'm _permanently_ brain damaged?" Trip said.

"There's no particular reason to think you are, and it's far too early to tell. You must have _patience_."

"You want me to be patient when this could be the end of my career?"

"I want you to be patient when your doctor tells you that you need time to recover."

"I don't know what I'd do if I can't be an engineer anymore."

"There's no point to even _thinking_ about that yet."

"How can I not think about that? Can you _guarantee_ me that won't happen?"

Phlox released him to his own cabin shortly after that.

x x x

That was where he finally got a visit from her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I'm all right. A little woozy." _A little stupid._ He sat down on his bed.

She sat in his desk chair. "We are meeting to discuss the findings from the drone ship tomorrow morning, if you'd like to join us."

"I'll see if I can," he said. He'd have to pester Phlox to give him another one of those tests. Hopefully, he'd do better. He wanted to be back on duty. It was boring and mildly terrifying to just lie about, wondering if this might be the rest of his life. "Come up with anything interesting?"

"Yes, very interesting," she said. "But I am still analyzing the data, and Phlox is investigating some brain wave patterns we detected."

Brain wave patterns? Was his puzzlement over this another sign of his own brain's impairment? Rather than betray that, he said, "You look a little tired." She had circles under her eyes, which was unusual for her. Maybe she'd been working longer hours with all that data. Maybe she was just beginning to show a little of her age at last. The idea made him sad.

"There is a great deal of data to analyze," she said. "And very little time. The captain is concerned that we may soon face that ship again."

"Well, don't let me keep you away from your work," he said. "Though I do appreciate the visit."

She regarded him for what felt like a long moment, though perhaps it wasn't really. He no longer trusted his perception of anything that had to do with her.

He thought of the odd dream he'd had, the one with the white space. It had been quite comforting at the time.

_Touch me,_ he thought, experimentally.

But she didn't, of course. She just got up and left.

Trip lay down and curled up with his arms around a pillow.

It had been a ridiculous thought.


	21. The Aenar

**SPOILERS:** "The Aenar" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "The Aenar" was written by Manny Coto.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **As always, many thanks, kind reviewers!

* * *

Trip sat back on the deck and stared, appalled, at the result on his scanner. How could he not have noticed a full ten degree variance from spec on one of the emitters?

That could have killed T'Pol! Hell, it probably explained how poor Jhamel had ended up unconscious in a biobed – which had very nearly cost _all _of them their lives.

It was just like T'Pol had said. He'd let his damned feelings get in the way - his stupid, pointless, ridiculous feelings, which had suddenly flared out of control at the way she was able to just blithely ride over all his concerns and put herself in harm's way without any thought to what it might mean to the mission or the crew.

Or to him.

He sighed unhappily. Recent events had taught him that he was still completely hung up on their science officer. She was what he thought about as he lay dying, what he fantasized about when he wanted some comfort, and apparently also what he obsessed over when he _should _be focused on his work.

This situation was intolerable. Irresponsible. Unforgiveable.

It was hard enough just getting back up to speed after the radiation poisoning. He was still tired and still off his game. He had to check everything twice, three times, four times. He had to re-read and re-scan and re-think instead of just moving ahead with his usual confidence. That was bad enough. Add in brooding about T'Pol and he was going to get somebody killed.

They had been _this_ close to destruction!

He rested his head on his arm for a moment. Was he over-reacting? Phlox had warned him not to return to duty too soon. He'd said something about his emotions being a little out of whack. Did that mean that this terrifying feeling of incompetence was just temporary? Did that mean that soon he would be able to wall off his feelings for T'Pol without any difficulty and just get the job done?

But Trip didn't buy that. The real problem wasn't the radiation. The real problem was that he'd had to work so closely with her. That was what had made it so hard. And the thing was, that was going to happen again and again and again. They'd had to work together closely many times over the course of their years together on this ship. There was no reason to think that was ever going to stop. When it came to day-to-day routine, they could minimize their contact. When there was a big crisis brewing? No way.

Hell, even if she suddenly decided she loved him, how were they _ever_ supposed to be able to work together properly? He would _always_ be worried for her.

He'd been a fool to think he could handle something like this.

Even so, he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it. It had really been something for awhile there. And it was still something – hell, it was still _everything_ - for him.

But that was the problem. It was way past time to let it go.

He sighed, and looked up and around at his beloved engineering, where he had brought the tele-presence unit for further study before it got packed it away in the cargo hold, and realized that he would never get over this thing with T'Pol if he stayed here, on the same ship with her, seeing her, working with her, fearing for her, longing for her.

Being completely discounted by her.

They'd wanted him for _Columbia_ for awhile now. It was a brand-new ship. It was a brand-new warp engine – and one that apparently needed a surer hand than it had gotten so far. The challenge had tempted him before. Not just because of T'Pol, either. He and Jon had been at odds a little too often lately.

Really, _Columbia _was the perfect way to start fresh.

x x x

Jon frowned as he read Trip's report. Right up top was his key finding, a variance error that Trip seemed to feel had been catastrophic and inexcusable.

As he read on, he became increasingly concerned. For a guy who hated administrative work, Trip actually had a flair for writing reports that were cogent and instructive and sometimes even a little entertaining. Little of that was in evidence here. The writing was nowhere near his usual standard, with a number of sloppy errors and a noticeable lack of organization. If the text hadn't harped so mercilessly on Trip's own fault, Jon would be wondering if he'd farmed the report out to a subordinate.

He went to sickbay. "Phlox, did you ever get around to clearing Trip for full duty?"

Phlox scowled. "Does it matter? He insists on working whether I recommend it or not."

"You have the authority to keep him off duty."

"Yes, I know. However, Commander Tucker finds enforced rest extremely frustrating, to the point at which it can become rather counter-productive for him. And I believe his services _were _rather important during our last crisis."

"Granted. But this report – one, it's a mess. Two, he's claiming it was an error of his that caused the telepresence unit to injure Jhamel."

Phlox took the padd and scanned the report, frowning. "I don't see how a variance that small could have made that much of a difference. However, I suppose it's impossible to know for certain without testing it again."

"Jhamel's gone, but I wouldn't want to put anyone at risk just to check something like this." Jon took the report back and stared down at it, still concerned.

Phlox said, "Even if the error did contribute in some way to Jhamel's convulsions, I have to assume it's a mistake anyone could make on brand new equipment being assembled under a very tight deadline. Furthermore, Commander Tucker is still recovering from his radiation exposure. It will take at least another week or two, possibly even longer, for his performance to return to its usual level."

"He claims he poses a danger to the mission. He writes of allowing personal distraction to interfere with his focus."

Phlox grimaced. "Emotional control can _also_ be weakened by radiation exposure, Captain."

Jon sighed. "Is this a reference to what I think it is? A certain ongoing tension with our science officer?"

"I would imagine so."

"In your judgment, _could_ that personal distraction have interfered with his job performance in this situation?"

Phlox, clearly uncomfortable, said, "It's possible, captain … but as I said, his radiation exposure may very likely have exacerbated the issue."

Jon frowned. Radiation or not, this had now risen to a level that had to be addressed by him. "Do you have any advice for me?"

Phlox shook his head. "Given time, I believe Commander Tucker will find a workable solution. It's a good sign that he recognizes there _is_ a problem."

"All right, Doctor. Thanks."

Jon left. It was obviously time to try to talk to Trip about what was really going on here. Maybe if he called him to his quarters instead of his ready room, they could thrash it out over a bottle of bourbon, off the record_,_ before whatever this was could get out of hand.

Maybe all Trip really needed right now was a friend.


	22. Affliction

**SPOILERS:** "Affliction" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Affliction" was written by Manny Coto.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Okay, so I lied about how long it would take me to post again. Unfortunately, once this scene occurred to me, I couldn't let it go. It's also quite short. (Might as well get this kind of agony over with quickly.) Thanks as always, dear reviewers.

* * *

T'Pol was working at her station on the bridge when Archer exited his ready room and headed her way. "C'mon. Trip's party is getting under way."

She kept her eyes on her station. "I don't plan to attend."

"You're with me, Commander. That's an order."

T'Pol rose stiffly and followed him into the turbo-lift. Archer didn't look at her, just at the door, as he said, "I don't know what's been going on between you and Trip, and I don't want to know. But if you boycott his going-away party, the crew might just conclude that problems with you are what drove him away, and that would not be a good thing for your effectiveness as first officer or for morale in general."

T'Pol could not help but consider this unfair. "Commander Tucker took some pains earlier today to assure me that his life does not 'revolve around' me. Instead of forcing me to attend this event, perhaps you could simply ask him to share that sentiment with the rest of the crew."

Archer smiled ruefully. "That would probably just confirm their worst suspicions." He sighed as the door opened onto the corridor outside the mess hall. "I know this is difficult for you, T'Pol. It is for me, too. Just … see it through as best you can. Appearances matter."

In the over-crowded mess hall, Trip was already the center of a hubbub of well-wishers. Chef had laid out a buffet that included many of Tucker's favorites – T'Pol recognized fried catfish, chili, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, broccoli, pecan pie and peach cobbler.

After the meal, the engineering staff presented their rendition of "Commander Tucker's Rules," a set of ridiculous maxims that frequently provoked the Humans present to laughter. T'Pol failed to see the humor in most, though Trip appeared to find them amusing - and sometimes embarrassing.

Archer spoke more seriously, offering a litany of most (though certainly not all) that Tucker had done for ship and crew. Trip looked both touched and pained. She was relieved that the captain included her by name in their best wishes for the commander, since she had nothing to add, and might not have been capable of it even if she did, for her throat had become rather constricted. Indeed, as the time of his scheduled departure neared, she began to experience a number of unpleasant physical symptoms that she might once have feared indicated an imminent health crisis, had she not already survived them after the loss of her mother and, earlier, her father.

There followed a great many handshakes and hugs, as crewmen departed and the room slowly emptied. Still Archer prevented her from leaving. Finally, Sato, Mayweather and Reed received close embraces, as did the Captain and even Chef, and then Tucker came to her where she was standing, her arms folded tight against her chest, as close to the door as she could get without actually leaving the room.

"It was an honor to serve with you, Commander," he said, and stuck out his hand, his eyebrows raised in sardonic challenge.

Perhaps he expected her to snub him as she once had. However, this was likely the last opportunity she would ever have to touch her mate, so she gripped his hand in return - and was immediately awash in a flood of bitter grief that was not her own.

He snatched his hand back and stared uncertainly at her.

"Live long and prosper, Commander," she managed to say. And then, no longer capable of concerning herself with appearance, she fled to the privacy of her quarters without waiting to hear whether he had any reply.

Once there, she sank down into her meditation posture, though she did not attempt to meditate. Instead, she waited. If Commander Tucker had sensed any part of her _own_ despair in that brief contact, he might yet follow her to her quarters. If she still meant anything to him, he might yet allow her to explain what she had not succeeded in explaining that morning.

She waited, but he never came.


	23. Divergence

**SPOILERS:** "Divergence" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Divergence" was written by Judith Reeves-Stevens and Garfield Reeves-Stevens.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Many thanks as always, dear reviewers. Thanks to Putaro for pointing out an issue with this one that I was able to attempt to fix, and I suppose I also just went in and messed with this one a little. Jon didn't sound quite right on rereading it.

* * *

In his captain's mess, Erika lifted a glass of Andorian ale and said, "To working together."

Jon clinked his glass against hers. "To working together … _and_ playing together, if you feel like sticking around for awhile."

She smiled tightly. "About that…"

Damn. He probably should have phrased that a little more romantically. Or maybe she was just too busy being a new captain. He swallowed a gulp of the ale and steeled himself for rejection.

She leaned forward across the table and lowered her voice. "What would you do with Porthos?"

He laughed. "Porthos? I guess we could lock him in the bathroom. What, you don't want my dog staring at you?"

"Might be a little distracting."

"You know, that particular issue hasn't come up before." It really hadn't, at least not on board ship. This was clearly not a good indicator about his love life.

"He won't howl if you stick him in the bathroom?"

"You find _howling_ distracting, too?" he said, and grinned. "He's a good boy. I'll give him something to chew on. Or, we could go to your place. You could give me your very special tour for fellow NX captains."

She grimaced. "New crew, new captain … I'm not sure I could be entirely comfortable doing that on _Columbia._"

Jon frowned. "Starfleet gossip travels far faster than any ship in the fleet. If that really concerns you, it might be better if we just leave it on the mountain."

"Excuse me?" She gave him a disgusted look. "Where's my determined hero of the Expanse?"

He'd find her use of "hero" really irritating if she wasn't using it to try to talk him into having sex. "I want you to succeed, Erika. So here's my advice, from one captain to another: If you're not going to get tight-assed about fraternization, you can probably get away with it. But if you are … well, in that case, any rumors that get started really could be problematic."

She frowned. "I wasn't _planning_ on getting 'tight-assed' about a little low-key fraternization. These are pretty damned long missions, after all." She took another swig of ale. "_Speaking_ of long missions … dare I ask who broke your former chief engineer's heart?"

"You noticed that?"

"How could I not?"

Jon sighed. "This is between us?"

"Of course."

"I believe that would be my first officer."

Her lips pursed into a near-whistle. "Oh my. I'd heard that rumor, but I thought it couldn't be true. She's _Vulcan_. A _married _Vulcan. _And_ above him in the chain of command."

"T'Pol's not your typical Vulcan. And that marriage is over. Apparently it was just a marriage of convenience anyway. And the chain of command hasn't been a problem with those two for years. I have no complaints there."

Erika finished her glass. "But she and Tucker…?"

"I can't give you details. Neither confides in me. I just hope they know what they're doing, trying to go their separate ways. Vulcans mate for life. It's not a matter of choice for them once it's done. That's just it, until somebody dies."

"I'd heard they never divorced, but I figured that was because they didn't find divorce very logical."

"It's rare, and usually because of some problem with the mate bond. Mind you, I only know this because I carried Surak around in my head for awhile. He knew a mate bond when he saw it. And with those two, he was pretty sure he saw it. At least from her. Trip's Human, so who knows with him."

Erika stared at him, clearly nonplussed. Too late, Jon reflected that casually telling your lover and a fellow captain that you'd carried the long-dead father of Vulcan logic around in your head might not be the wisest move. "Look … about the Surak thing. I know it defies belief. I wouldn't believe it, either, if it hadn't actually happened to me. I can understand if you're a little worried that I've suddenly gone around the bend. All I can tell you is that I haven't. Talk to Ambassador Soval if you must. He knows all about it."

She blinked and he hoped she wasn't trying to decide whether she should make a report to Starfleet Command. At least Gardner already knew about it. Soval had been quite useful in making it sound like little more than an obscure administrative detail, best kept private to protect delicate Vulcan sensibilities.

Finally she said, "So, Jon … possibly insane Surak claim aside … why would you concerned about your two senior officers separating? I would think you'd be relieved."

He sighed. "For Vulcans, it's just a Very Bad Thing - very painful … distracting … and, of course, _illogical._"

"It seems pretty logical to me that two officers in the same chain of command would realize they shouldn't be serving together. Sometimes it's better to just accept that something isn't going to work out, for whatever reason, and move on."

_Just as he and Erika once had_, Jon thought, and perhaps she did too, for she suddenly looked self-conscious. He said, "That's part of the reason I let Trip go without a fight. But now I've got a very lonely and depressed first officer, and Trip doesn't look too happy either. It just feels like … I don't know. Like I'm watching a train wreck in slow motion."

"I have to agree. I don't even know the guy, but everything about him is just screaming that something's terribly wrong."

"So ... give him back. I've got a newly-minted chief engineer I'd be willing to trade. He comes highly recommended."

Erika grimaced. "Kelby has a reputation for being technically brilliant but alienating the hell out of people. That's not what I need. They're already having a hard enough time surviving an unhappy Commander Tucker."

Well, he'd tried. "Black pretty much insisted I give him at least a trial so he could get some hands-on experience. I shouldn't have let him talk me into it."

"I need a capable Chief Engineer just as badly as you do, Jonathan. _More_ than you do. Except for Ensign Rivers, my staff lacks any previous deep space experience."

"I know." Erika had proven to be formidable in her quest for talent. He'd had to spend some political capital protecting his senior staff from her grasp before this – in Trip's case, ultimately for nothing. He frowned. He didn't like being in competition with her about something this basic. Especially not now.

She looked appraisingly at him and said, "If Trip feels that he _needs_ to come back, that's different. We could put together a trade. I'm sure you have other staff in engineering who wouldn't mind a bump up. And I'd sure like to get my hands on a more experienced tactical officer."

"Not Reed," Jon said, though this time it wasn't purely out of a desire to hang onto his senior staff. People like Harris never liked taking no for an answer. Who knew how long it would be before Malcolm's loyalty would be tested again? Erika didn't need that kind of problem at this stage of her command.

"What about his second?"

"That might work. Let's explore that if we need to. If Trip doesn't _want_ to come back, this is all academic."

"You _could_ do it just to be nice to me." She smiled.

"I've got _other_ ways to do that," Jon said, and smiled back.

x x x

Trip clicked on the lights in _Enterprise_'s guest quarters and looked around. He still hadn't gotten around to unpacking on _Columbia_, so he was used to this kind of chilly utilitarian blankness by now. He sniffed. Was that a whiff of Tellarite in the air?

Well, no matter. It was time for a shower, sleep, and then another double shift. He'd agreed to stay and help Kelby get the engines back up to speed, but if he'd realized just how awkward it was going to be commanding his old engineering staff over the head of their new chief engineer, he might have said no.

Might have.

He certainly _could_ have said no. It wasn't like he didn't have a big enough job back on _Columbia._

Why had he said yes, again?

Maybe it was the relieved looks on the faces of his old engineering staff.

Maybe it was the way he still didn't know what the hell had happened with Malcolm.

Maybe it was the way Captain Hernandez said, "It seems to me, Commander, that you might have an unresolved issue or two here on _Enterprise_. Why don't you help them out for a couple of weeks, and then let me know where you really want to be."

Maybe it was the way Jon had smiled sadly and said, "It's damned good to see you, Trip."

Or maybe it was that unexpected raw anguish he'd sensed in that last handshake with T'Pol before he left – and again, in Engineering, when he'd put his hand on her back.

It certainly couldn't be the way she'd suddenly started following him around, asking him questions about how he was sleeping. He'd lied and told her he was sleeping fine, and she'd lied right back at him.

He sighed. Why had he lied, again? Why was it so important to pretend he didn't think about her at all, when she was practically all he could think about?

And why was she asking, anyway? Was this about their strange little conversations in the white space? At first, Trip had assumed they were some sort of weird waking dreams, or daydreams, or perhaps outright hallucinations, but as the days passed and they became practically routine, he had arrived at two hypotheses.

One: he was cracking up. Two: they were real.

If one, he was managing to remain surprisingly functional in every other aspect of his life, but perhaps that's what people who were cracking up always thought. If two, T'Pol had some explaining to do. He supposed she might have actually attempted that with those questions about his sleep, but there was something about her approach that just annoyed the hell out of him. He just _knew_ she was gong to try to deny it meant anything that she couldn't seem to stop runnning into him in la-la land.

He got out of the shower, put on some fresh underwear, and brushed his teeth. Maybe he should go talk to Phlox. Rule out the 'cracking up' hypothesis.

Unfortunately, Phlox might decide he really _was_ cracking up and pull him off duty. Either that, or he'd tell him he clearly had unresolved issues. Well, duh. Even Hernandez could see that and she'd known him for less than a week.

He got into bed and stared up at the top of his bunk. If he didn't get some sleep while he could, he was going to be useless tomorrow.

That was when everything faded to white. Again.

"I really don't have time for this," he growled from where he lay on his back in the middle of T'Pol's oddly warm white space. He was glad it was warm, since he was in nothing but his underwear. "I'm _trying_ to get some sleep here."

"Perhaps some neuro-pressure would help." She was sitting in her meditation pose in the red pajamas, his favorite.

"No thank you. That's how we got into this mess in the first place. Why the hell didn't my blanket come with me?" He turned on his side, curling up a little to obtain some modesty. This would be a very bad time for those red pajamas to work their magic on him.

She just watched him. She looked tired and depressed.

"So, what the hell is going on here?" he said. "I've never had daydreams like this before, and suddenly I'm in the white zone once or twice a day. Am I cracking up, or is this some weird Vulcan thing?"

She frowned at him. "We appear to have established some kind of psychic bond."

"I kind of assumed this would stop when I returned to _Enterprise_."

Her chin lifted with interest. "You're staying?"

"No. I just meant … I thought maybe it was some kind of distance thing."

"Apparently not _physical_ distance," she said, and wrapped her arms around her knees, forming a tight ball - the smallest possible target, he realized.

"Is this maybe because I was a little mean when I left?" he said, thinking out loud. Maybe that was what was unresolved here. He did feel a little bad about some of the things he'd said. "Look, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." He waited, but nothing happened. He was still there. T'Pol said nothing, just sat in her fortified little hunch.

"This is where you're supposed to tell me you _have_ no feelings," he said, prodding her. "Come on - your mother dies, you're fine. Your marriage ends, you're fine. Your pesky old human lover takes off … that should be no problem at all, right? Hell, it should barely even register."

She tucked her head into her knees and began to rock just a little.

"Maybe _you're_ the one who's cracking up." He managed to feel a little concern mix in with the anger and hurt that generally ruled him whenever they talked. "Is that what this is, T'Pol? Are you having a little Vulcan breakdown?"

"Perhaps." She said it into her knees.

He sat up. If she was admitting it, it must be bad. "You should talk to Phlox. Or, hell -" He waved his hand around. "I'm here." Wherever the hell _here _was. "Whether I want to be or not, apparently." This was just so insane. "So talk to me. What's going on?"

She said nothing, just rocked.

"Look, I don't understand," he said, exasperated. "If you're not going to talk to me, why am I here?"

But then he wasn't. He was back in his bunk, in the same position as when he'd left.

Damn it!

He probably should get up and go to her quarters and demand an explanation – provoke a fight – try to get _some _sort of resolution.

And he'd get up right now, if he thought he could fight fair - or that she'd even admit that what just happened had in fact happened.

Maybe it _hadn't_ happened, even though he was pretty sure it had.

Either way, part of him was just becoming so furious at her for denying him what felt like his _rights _that he didn't entirely trust himself to go talk to her about it in real life at all. Truth was, he wanted to scream at her. He wanted to smash her precious goddamn Vulcan things on the deck, especially that goddamn _Kir'Shara_.

And what was the point of trying to resurrect a relationship that had gotten that unhealthy?

Better to leave it alone before somebody got hurt even worse. He'd just do his job. When she was ready, maybe she would tell him what the hell this was all about. Or maybe he'd just get over it. Or maybe they'd ship him off to a mental hospital until he stopped experiencing these delusional episodes.

He just hoped this wasn't what he was going to feel like for the rest of his life.


	24. Bound Part I

**SPOILERS:** "Bound" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Bound" was written by Manny Coto.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Two parts to this one. Many thanks, reviewers!

* * *

Hoshi sat in the mess hall nursing her cup of tea and nibbling on her breakfast of grilled salmon and seaweed over rice and waiting to see if the pattern of the last week held up.

Ever since Commander Tucker had returned to _Enterprise_, each morning around this time he walked in, looking haggard, ordered "coffee, strong," then grabbed a breakfast and found someone to sit with. So far it had been with her about half the time.

Less than two minutes later, Commander T'Pol would come in, see that Commander Tucker was sitting with someone else, fill a mug, and leave the room.

Sure enough, Tucker soon came in – today he looked even more exhausted than usual – grabbed the coffee, and filled a plate.

This time Commander T'Pol entered almost immediately after him. "Commander," she said, in greeting, and picked up a plate from the stack.

"Commander," he said politely. He quickly finished filling his plate and made his way over to Hoshi's table. "May I join you, Ensign?"

"Sure," she said, and saw T'Pol stop and take in what had just happened. Her face expressionless, the Vulcan replaced her empty plate, filled a mug, and left.

Hoshi hoped T'Pol was getting _some_ breakfast. She was looking kind of thin.

"You and Commander T'Pol used to share a lot of meals," she said. "Why don't you anymore?"

The engineer scowled at her. "She could have sat down with us if she wanted to."

"Maybe she just wanted to sit with you."

He sighed tiredly. "Then she should ask me. I'm not a mind reader."

"Huh," Hoshi said, unable to entirely contain a smirk. "_She_ is."

He stared at her from over his coffee mug, his expression equal parts confused, tired and irritated.

She decided to explain. "When we were trying to track down Phlox, after you left for _Columbia,_ she performed what they call a 'mind meld' on me."

His eyebrows went up. "She knows how to do that?"

"It was the first time. The captain helped her."

"The _captain?_"

"Apparently Surak passed along a whole bunch of practical wisdom for Vulcans." Hoshi still found it amusing that the guy who so often had complained to her at length about how irritating he found Vulcans was now Earth's premiere expert on the subject.

Tucker frowned. "So what was it like?"

Hoshi had been asked to explain this by others, but still wasn't quite sure how to put it. "She asked me to remember being on that street at night with Phlox, so I did, but it was as if she was walking along with me, talking me through it. We really only needed to figure out what species they were, so it didn't take very long."

"And that was it?"

"Yeah, that was it."

"Did you see inside _her_ mind?"

He _would_ want to know that, wouldn't he? "No. She was just … there, in my memory. Kind of the same as she would be on the bridge."

Tucker said nothing, just looked a little disturbed.

"But, you know, I had the weirdest dream that night," Hoshi said. "You and T'Pol were having this intense conversation in this really white space."

He looked up sharply.

Hoshi continued, "I asked her about it later, because – well, no offense, Commander, but I didn't remember ever dreaming about you like that before – and she said subconscious thoughts can be shared during a mind meld. Anyway, if that's true, I'd say her subconscious thoughts include an awfully realistic version of you, right down to the way you argue."

He just stared at her, and Hoshi felt her heart beat a little faster. She was taking a chance saying this, but she felt she had to. "I haven't carried around Surak in my head like the captain has," she said. "But I can see what's right in front of my eyes. We all missed you when you left, but she _really_ missed you."

For a moment he looked just a little vulnerable, but then he scowled. "It's illogical to miss people."

"I'm just saying…"

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I don't think you fully understand the situation."

"Are you certain you do?"

He got up. "I'm certain I need to get to engineering. That's enough for me."

Hoshi watched him go and sipped her tea. Trip had reacted defensively, just as she had feared, but sometimes it paid to launch an idea anyway. You never knew when it might land.

x x x

That night Trip went to see the captain in his quarters.

"Trip," Jon said, smiling. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hoshi told me you helped T'Pol do a mind meld."

Archer stared appraisingly at him for a moment. "Yes."

"I guess carrying Surak's _katra _around has turned out to be pretty handy."

"I definitely understand Vulcans better than I used to." Jon reached up into his closet and brought down the bottle and two glasses. "Perhaps that's not saying a lot."

Trip smiled and pace the room nervously. "I was wondering if I could ask you something off the record."

"Shoot."

"Off the record."

Archer poured him a glass and handed it to him. "Yes, off the record."

"Because you did say you didn't want to know anything, before."

"Look, Trip, I won't deny it would make my work life easier if I didn't know anything - but you're also my friend, and I don't want to turn my back on that. So … just give me some plausible deniability. Anything you tell me here … it's probably fine. In front of a room full of witnesses … or near a recording device … or if it's something that's going to seriously interfere with the mission or ship's operations … then we might have a problem."

"Okay." Trip swallowed and took another lap to the window and back. Porthos looked up from his doggy bed but stayed put.

The thing was, this was still risky. Hallucinating chief engineers could arguably interfere pretty badly with ship's operations. "Do you know anything about Vulcans getting inside each other's heads … by accident?"

Archer took a slug of his own drink. "You need to give me a little more to go on than that."

"Well… suppose a Vulcan is just sitting there meditating, and suddenly she's having this mental conversation with someone who isn't even on the same ship … say, with someone who's busy trying to do his job, except he's suddenly been shanghaied into her Vulcan la-la land."

Jon stared at him.

"And before you ask," Trip said, "he's already determined that no, he's not hallucinating."

Jon took another sip of his drink and appeared to ponder his answer for a moment. "I can't say for certain, but there's a reason Vulcans are expected to live together for at least a year after they marry. Separation early in a relationship can be … problematic."

"These two people aren't married."

"Well, with Vulcans, it's not really the _marriage_ that matters ... it's the _bond._"

She'd said something about a bond in the white space recently, hadn't she? "I don't understand."

"Vulcans mate for life. Like … I don't know … parrots or penguins or whatever. Humans form pair bonds, too, but ours tend to be temporary. We have to _work_ at staying together for life, and only about half of us succeed. Vulcans … well, they don't have to work at it the same way we do. It's not really a matter of choice. So, if a Vulcan _bonds_ with you…"

"She _hasn't _bonded with me."

"How do you know?"

"Because she married the other guy. And then when _that_ was over, she decided it was time to go all Super Vulcan and devote herself to that _Kir'Shara._ So, _obviously_, she was perfectly capable of _choosing_ to do something else." Trip could feel his face turning hot. He didn't enjoy reciting that particular litany.

"Maybe she only _thought_ she could. In Surak's time, Vulcans understood this stuff. But they've been repressing everything related to their psychic abilities for centuries. You can't _measure_ it, so it's gotten this rap as not scientific, maybe not even real. You've seen how badly they reacted to mind melds. They've gotten like that with their pair bonds, too. They never talk about them. They just _have_ them."

Trip gulped the rest of his bourbon. "So you're saying you think she might be stuck with me despite all her best efforts."

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"Does that mean I'm also stuck with her?"

Archer shrugged. "You tell me."

"If I am, I don't think it's _fair_. I never asked for this."

"Maybe she doesn't think it's fair, either. Imagine what it must be like, to be the only Vulcan around who doesn't know if her partner can be relied on."

"I'm not the one who went and married someone else."

"I don't think you should go back to _Columbia_," Jon said. "Not until you've figured this out, anyway."

"That's not exactly objective advice. You want your old chief engineer back."

"Of course I do. I also think you should consider the more positive aspects of this situation. Here's a beautiful, intelligent woman who will never grow old during your lifetime and who will never even be _tempted_ to look at another man."

Trip scowled. "She's never tempted to look at _me_, either."

"That's not what I see."

Trip sighed. Apparently everyone on this ship saw signs of interest from T'Pol that utterly escaped him.

"Trip, you are a resourceful man. You can figure this one out."

"Would _you _want to spend your life with someone who simply got _stuck_ with you?"

"A bond doesn't form unless both people want it."

Trip stopped his pacing and sank into Jon's desk chair. Yes, he'd wanted it – though he'd had no idea what he was getting into. She hadn't either, probably. It was a pretty bad deal for her by any logical standard. "Maybe what we really have here are two victims of the Expanse."

Jon gave him a serious look. "You two were dancing around each other for a long time before we got anywhere near the Expanse. Why don't you just admit that you're head over heels and deal with it?"

"If I get one more no, it will kill me. Or I'll kill her. Neither option is good."

"Did you ever really ask her a question she could say yes or no to?"

"I did, actually." Not that he'd exactly made his best effort there. Still, he'd given her the option. And she hadn't taken it.

Jon got up and patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Trip. But if I have one piece of advice about T'Pol, it's that you have to find a way for her to back into the things she wants, especially when she thinks she shouldn't want them."

Trip sighed. "Suppose I stayed. What the hell would we do about Kelby? And where does that leave _Columbia_?"

Jon grinned. "Let me worry about that. Your plate is already full enough."

_No kidding._

Jon poured them each a little more. "To positive resolutions."

Trip clinked his glass against Jon's and took another swallow. If nothing else, at least he felt as if he and Jon had finally reconnected. Maybe he'd had to leave for that to happen, too.

He held the glass up for a second toast. "To old friends."

* * *

_To be continued_


	25. Bound Conclusion

**SPOILERS:** "Bound" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Bound" was written by Manny Coto.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Many thanks, reviewers. _And now, the conclusion…_ (It's way cooler if you imagine Jolene Blalock saying that.) Heads up that this one earns its T rating.

Also, here's a heads up about narrative flow after this. After the two Mirror Universe missing scenes that follow this one, I skip over to two missing _episodes_ that would have taken place in the 'real universe' during the time of the MU episodes. I then return to the missing scenes with "Demons." You don't have to read those two missing episodes to follow along, but you will miss some interesting developments between Trip and T'Pol if you do. (Having said that, the missing episodes are general ensembles with strong TnT strands rather than purely TnT.)

* * *

T'Pol was confused.

Commander Tucker's affect had changed noticeably when they encountered each other in the white space, while his behavior in 'real time' had not changed at all – he still politely avoided contact with her, remaining professional and efficient, with perhaps an edge of impatience. At the Christmas party the captain had insisted on her attending the night before, she'd asked him what he wanted for Christmas, and he'd rather sourly said, "Peace on Earth, good will towards men. How about you?"

"Vulcans don't celebrate Christmas."

"I think that goes without saying," he'd said, and moved away from her.

But in the white space, a place where they now seemed to meet virtually every evening, it was different.

She focused on the flame in front of her, hoping to get in at least some of the meditation she sorely needed before she had to deal with this strange new Tucker again, only to discover him sitting cross-legged where the flame had been, staring back at her.

Thankfully, this time he was at least dressed in sweats and a t-shirt instead of his underwear. That should make it easier for her to concentrate.

"What's up, sweetheart?" he said.

She raised a puzzled eyebrow. "It has been some time since you last used any terms of endearment with me."

"I know. Why, do you miss it?"

She swallowed. Tucker seemed to be genuinely curious, rather than just needling her. "I certainly regret the extent to which hostility has replaced affection."

"So do I." He smiled tightly.

Could he actually mean that? If so, how could this be the same man she'd talked to the night before?

"Of course, I also miss your signs of affection for me," he added, with a smirk. "You _never _drop your robe for me anymore."

She breathed in sharply. He hadn't referenced their past intimate relationship at all since it had ended. "That would be rather problematic. You are never in my quarters."

"You haven't invited me to your quarters."

"You won't even eat meals with me. What would be the point of inviting you to my quarters?"

"Who says I won't eat meals with you?"

"We haven't shared a meal alone since…"

"Since you married Koss."

She could feel his surge of anger, and her heart began to beat faster. This was the first time they were really discussing the heart of the matter … at least in this space. She said, "And apparently you will never forgive me for that."

"Well … I'm trying. It's not easy."

"It's not particularly easy for me to forgive you, either."

His eyes widened. "Forgive _me?_ For _what_?"

"You turned away from me, even as I chose _you_ over the life I was supposed to lead on Vulcan. And then you _left._"

"Excuse me, darlin', but that was only after you had chosen reading Surak over _me_. What the hell was worth staying for after that?"

"You had made your decision long before that. Once you turned away, I knew that you _could_ turn away. As a Human, you would inevitably become dissatisfied again with some aspect or another of our relationship. It was clearly wiser to let you go and focus on improving my emotional control, so that I could better cope with my solitary future."

He frowned, apparently considering her point. Then he leaned forward, enticingly close. "Is that still how you see it?"

She swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm back now. Do you want me to go again?"

She couldn't entirely contain her frustration. "It doesn't _matter _what I want. You have made it quite clear that you intend to leave again."

He raised his chin. "What would you do to keep me?"

She stared at him. Was this real, or some sort of fantasy? Had she perhaps begun to doze off during meditation?

He leaned in again. "What would you do, T'Pol?"

_Anything,_ she thought. _I'll do anything._ "What do you want me to do?"

He smirked. "You know me. I'm not that hard to please."

Her heart sped up. She _did_ know him. She unbuttoned her pajama top.

His eyes visibly darkened. "Keep going."

She let the shirt drop, then rose from the floor, feeling quite flushed, and pushed her pajama bottoms down. This _had _to be a dream. She had often dreamed of sex with him while she was addicted to Trellium-D. And there had never been anything like this in their white space encounters before.

"Very nice," he said huskily. "Don't stop now."

She took a steadying breath and walked over to where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She lowered herself onto his lap.

He was plainly aroused. How very gratifying that was. He stared into her eyes and his hands grasped each of her hips. There was no startling current of connection as there so often was in real life, no distinctive Tucker smell, but it felt quite agreeable anyway.

"Kiss me," he said.

She leaned forward and kissed him, and soon he was plumbing her mouth with his tongue while one hand held her head steady and the other pulled her closer to him.

Eventually she ended up lying under him, whimpering in frustration as he did everything but what she most wanted him to do.

"T'Pol," he said. "Look at me. Look at me." He stared down at her intently. "Are you mine?"

"Yes," she moaned.

"For good? Forever?"

Given the inevitability that one of them would eventually die, that was not a particularly logical way of looking at it, but there were times when T'Pol could guess that logic would not be well-received. "Yes. I'm yours, Trip. Forever."

"Don't you forget it," he growled, and finally, finally, _finally _claimed her as his own again.

Afterwards, she lay entwined with him and nosed the skin of his neck as he softly caressed her bare back. She wished she could smell him, but there was no smell here other than the scent of her candles.

The pleasure had been intense, and it surely felt as if _something _significant had passed between them, but had any of this really happened?

Was she perhaps simply 'cracking up', as white-space Trip would put it?

And then he was gone, and she was just sitting in her quarters, still in her pajamas, staring at the meditation flame in front of her.

x x x

The next morning at breakfast, she once again followed him into the mess hall. Once again he filled a plate, exchanging only a polite greeting with her, and went over to Sato's table. This time T'Pol decided to press the matter further.

"May I join you?" she asked the pair.

"Of course, Commander," Ensign Sato said, with a smile.

Tucker didn't even look up, focusing instead on his food.

"How are your repairs coming?" she asked Tucker.

He swallowed a mouthful. "Fine. It's like tuning the engines from scratch, though. It's going to take awhile before they're back to peak efficiency."

"It is fortuitous, then, that this new mission will further delay your return to _Columbia_."

"Well, it shouldn't take long. Hopefully Kelby will pick up a few tricks along the way, and you'll be in better hands when I go."

She stared at him.

He stared blandly back at her.

_Had _it been a dream?

x x x

Later she went to engineering. Perhaps a slightly more direct inquiry was warranted. She asked him if he had been experiencing any unusual daydreams.

He said no.

She left, immensely frustrated. There was something about the way he'd rebuffed her – perhaps it was the way he'd crowded into her space as he did so, or his oddly confident posture - that suggested he might be playing some kind of game with her.

Either that, or she really had imagined or dreamed or hallucinated the whole thing.

But then T'Pol had other issues to manage, including a captain and crew that was rapidly becoming completely irrational after prolonged exposure to three Orion females in skimpy clothing.

Every male on the ship was compromised – every male except Trip. Surely this was objective evidence that he was just as bonded to her as she was to him? There probably could be no better test of his attachment to her in the universe.

Unfortunately, she had no idea how he would react to this news.

x x x

Three days ago! Three days ago, he'd asked for a transfer back! And the whole time, he'd been pretending he was still leaving.

He had _intentionally_ withheld the information! He had provoked her until she acted out of sheer desperation.

And he had plainly _exulted _in what he had driven her to do right there in the corridor, where any crewman might have come across them.

She stopped and considered. On the plus side, she had gotten to kiss him again – the real him, in real time. She could still taste him on her lips. And his gaze had been affectionate. He apparently intended to be magnanimous in his victory.

Somehow, losing this particular contest of wills was not nearly as disagreeable as she might have expected.

Of course, that didn't mean she intended to lose any more of them.


	26. In a Mirror, Darkly Part I

**SPOILERS:** "In a Mirror, Darkly, Part 1" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "In a Mirror Darkly" was written by Mike Sussman.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so here we are in the Mirror Universe, The Realm of Terrible Acting and Nerdy Prop Fetishes. I generally enjoy fanfic set in the MU far better than the original episodes, but I've never wanted to write any myself - because, frankly, I'd just as soon pretend those episodes never happened. But after writing a missing scene for every friggin' episode so far (even "A Night in Sickbay"), I'm hardly going to skip one now. Language and non-explicit sexual content warning on this one.

If you'd prefer a sunnier vision of this time period in the REAL (Trek) universe, check out my missing episode from the RU – called "Darkness Intruding" - coming soon.

And many thanks as always, lovely reviewers!

* * *

Answering the chime, T'Pol pressed the controls to open the door of her quarters, her phase pistol ready behind her back. She didn't trust either Archer _or_ Reed to leave her alive for one moment longer than they had to.

But it was Tucker who stood there, smirking. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Come in." She backed away so she that could discreetly stow the pistol before he saw it.

There was something oddly endearing in the way their chief engineer still managed to leer at her with only one eye at his disposal. Already, his tongue was busy in his mouth – did he realize how much he tended to display it around her? Perhaps it was an attempt to advertise his skills.

He certainly did possess them, and not just with that tongue. Once, in the mess hall, T'Pol had overheard a group of women ranking the sexual technique of various men on board. Tucker had come out near the top. One had said, "It makes sense, you know. My momma always taught me that you'll get the best lay off of guys who aren't pretty and aren't rich. They know they're gonna have to work harder if they want to get some."

"That's a nice theory, but it doesn't hold up," another said. "Tucker was good in the sack even before his looks got ruined. It's the engineer in him. He just likes to figure out how to make things work."

"Skill is all well and good," another said. "But frankly, girls, that's not all he has going for him."

There had then followed a detailed comparative inventory of the sizes of the various male sex organs on board. Tucker had ranked fairly high on that list, as well.

At the time, T'Pol had considered these women irretrievably vulgar. Then the fever had struck her. Before she entirely lost control, she attempted to reason her way through the choices she faced. Vulcan males were known for stamina and brute strength, not for skill or size. They were also known for establishing mate bonds and then expecting their mates to follow them anywhere … and to bear their children. T'Pol was not particularly interested in prolonging the indignity of _pon farr_. Nor did she wish to become the bond mate of some lowly shipboard Vulcan, or to bring a child into this deeply uncertain existence.

So she'd made Tucker a proposition.

"What makes you think I'd want to fuck a Vulcan?" he'd said, though he was already pressing into her personal space with obvious interest – not that this was really anything new from him.

"It is well known that you will happily rut with any female on the ship at virtually any moment."

"Well, never while on duty," he'd said, with a grin. "But yeah, I guess I could help you out."

Oddly enough, she had no regrets about their liaison. Most of that time had passed in a haze, but not all of it. T'Pol had already been used by enough men of various species to appreciate when one took an interest in more than just his own satisfaction.

He'd even become a little protective of her after that, which she appreciated. Indeed, there were times when she almost regretted that Tucker was Human. There was something about him that piqued her sympathy and interest, and made her want to protect him from all those conniving sluts.

But he _was _Human, so there was no point in attempting to consolidate any incipient bond that might be forming. Still, he could, perhaps, yet prove to be a useful ally. "Archer never received any orders from Starfleet Command," she told him now.

Tucker scowled. "You know what's strange? The message I got had said something about you having a _fever_ you needed help with."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I should have known that was just a way to get me here. I think I'll be going now…"

"It doesn't concern you that our captain has been confined to the brig while Archer takes us deep into Tholian space?"

He sighed. "Honey doll, I have a rule about these things. All I do is make the ship go. I'm not interested in command politics. Those'll get a man killed a lot faster than standing next to a warp engine. Take my advice: stay out of it."

He turned to leave.

"I _can't _stay out of it. He's named me his first officer."

He stopped. "I'm sorry. There's not much I can do about that one. If I were you, I'd enjoy the perks while you've got them… and watch your back. Reed isn't going to take kindly to that development."

"If you help me put Captain Forrest back in command, my position will be much stronger … and he'll be certain to reward you."

He didn't move, but neither did he look at her. "I didn't hear that, T'Pol. You do what you have to do. Just please leave me the hell out of it."

She intercepted him at the door. "I would be willing to exchange sexual favors for your cooperation."

He stared sourly down at her. "You're fun, but you're not _that_ fun."

Clearly, the straightforward approach had failed. It was time for another. "I can see that you won't be persuaded," she said, and ran her tongue across her lips. "But that's not the only reason I wanted to see you. I have indeed been feeling somewhat … feverish."

"You're not going to get me to change my mind."

"I know. And I respect that in a man."

His lip curled. "Sure you do."

"Commander Tucker, if you're not going to help me take back the ship, the least you can do is help me cope with my ... condition." She opened her mouth and panted invitingly as she squeezed her breasts up between her two hands in as obvious an invitation as she could manage without actually shedding her top.

As she had anticipated, he couldn't resist. After some heated kissing and increasingly aggressive groping, he said, "That's more like it," and pulled her back towards her bunk.

Over the years T'Pol had become quite skilled at using mind melds to manipulate others – it was one of the reasons she had survived this long in an empire so hostile to Vulcans. It was a relatively simple matter to get him to do what was necessary. Indeed, she was a bit surprised to discover just how primed he was to please her.

Unfortunately, a mind meld was not entirely without risk in this situation – mostly of furthering an attachment that would do neither of them any favors.

This perhaps explained why, when he returned to her with his job completed, she rather recklessly decided to let him have what he'd wanted. He might as well get some pleasure for his trouble, even if she couldn't afford to allow him to remember any of this afterward.

Perhaps she could also consider it a small reward to herself for a mission accomplished.

He _had_ suggested that she enjoy the perks while she had them.


	27. In a Mirror, Darkly Conclusion

**SPOILERS:** "In a Mirror, Darkly, Part II" and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. Both parts of "In a Mirror Darkly" were written by Mike Sussman.

**Author's Note:** The MU is a harsh place, and this chapter has a strong warning for disturbing (non-explicit) sexual content, including implied sexual assault by unnamed characters. Please don't read it if that is likely to offend you. I am also fairly sure that I have used elements that exist in other MU fanfics, so my apologies if I have copied your brilliant idea.

You may hear a little more about these folks in "Darkness Intruding" when it starts running.

Many thanks as always, reviewers. I appreciate your support. I'm sure that in the Mirror Universe, nobody _ever_ leaves nice reviews.

* * *

Hoshi said, "We already know the booth won't work on her kind. Why don't we just go ahead and space her?" Although she would personally consider this a waste, she always enjoyed having this kind of conversation in front of the prisoner. Unfortunately, in this case there was little hope of inspiring any groveling. T'Pol just continued to stare stonily at the wall as if she hadn't even heard.

Archer grimaced. "Let's save the execution for when we can get the biggest bang out of it – when we take this ship to Vulcan. Throw her in the brig for now."

Did he really just want to let this bitch sit there comfortably, preparing herself for death? "That's no fun."

Archer sighed, obviously impatient. "What did you have in mind?"

"A little humiliation would be nice!"

"You can't humiliate a Vulcan. The more you try to degrade them, the more bored they look."

"Well then … why not at least reward the crew who stayed loyal to you? Provide some R&R."

Archer stared distastefully at her. He never had been very good at hiding his obnoxious sense of moral superiority. "If that's what makes you happy, you organize it," he said. "I've got a ship to run."

x x x

Hoshi wasn't too surprised when Tucker showed up.

He said, "What's this I hear about T'Pol being detailed to R&R?"

She smiled sweetly. "Do you want to schedule a session?"

He scowled. "I don't have time for that kind of nonsense. Archer took every alien off my engineering staff and blew them up on the _Avenger_! I'm down practically a whole shift! And T'Pol's got too many technical skills to be used as the ship's whore. Let me have her for engineering."

"You of all people should know she can't be trusted."

"I didn't say anything about trusting her. Just let me _use_ her. Don't you want to make sure this ship doesn't suddenly stop working when we most need it?"

"Is that a _threat_, Tucker_?_"

"No! It's what could happen if we're not doing something we ought to be doing because I don't even know what I don't know yet."

Was he as stupid as he sounded, or was he just trying to hide how desperate he was to save his favorite Vulcan piece of ass? "And if _she_ figures it out first, she'll blow us up. She had to be suicidal to begin with, to try to do what she did. And if she wasn't before, I'm sure she will be by the end of the day. She's already getting quite the workout. Would you like to see?" She turned her monitor in his direction.

His face flushed. Oh yes, he was definitely just trying to save the bitch for himself. "Come on, Hoshi," he said, openly pleading now. "I'll owe you. Big time."

She considered. Having Tucker's loyalty could prove very useful when they got to Earth, if only because he was probably the one man on board who was most capable of screwing up her plans. Nor did she yet have a strong engineer in her pocket. This was also the first time she'd ever heard of the ever-cautious Tucker actually trying to make a deal. "How do I know you won't just let her manipulate you?"

"I'm not a fool. She'll be restrained at all times. And by now she'll know quite well what the alternative is. It's either help me, or…" His eyes flickered towards the monitor. "…_that_."

"You know you'll be watched very carefully."

"So watch. I've got nothing to hide."

Apparently he didn't realize how much she already knew about the two of them. Or perhaps he did, but just didn't care. "She's still got a death sentence hanging over her," she said. "The first time we need to kill a Vulcan to make an example, Archer's going to want her back."

Yes, let Tucker think Archer was the enemy here.

The engineer's face turned to stone. "Fine, whatever. I still think we might as well get some use out of her while we can."

He'd say _anything,_ wouldn't he? He could have almost any woman on the ship – probably had, in fact - and yet he'd somehow let himself get hung up on this one cold-hearted Vulcan bitch. What an idiot. Still, having an easy lever with which to control their chief engineer was not an opportunity that came around every day. "Very well," she said. "She's scheduled until 2200. You can have her after that."

"No, I want her _now_."

"Don't push it, Tucker. I don't have to give her to you at all." She didn't even bother making it sound as if she had to run the idea by Archer. By 2200, it shouldn't matter anymore.

His jaw worked and his hands clenched at his sides. "All right," he said. "Thank you. I won't forget that I owe you one."

"See that you don't."

He left. She turned her monitor back and settled in happily. As Archer had predicted, T'Pol looked bored, but the crewman who was with her sure didn't.

x x x

Trip showed up at the brig at 2145 with a pair of coveralls, a set of handcuffs, and a phase pistol.

As he had hoped, she was alone in there. He'd quickly spread the word that the Vulcan was his, and any man who stepped into his territory was going to regret it.

"You really _must_ have a death wish," he said, after the MACO on duty confirmed his orders and let him into the brig. He pretended to a confidence he didn't actually possess as the door closed behind him. He wouldn't put it past Sato to take this opportunity to get him out of the way. "You actually thought you could rely on _Phlox?_"

She said nothing, just stared dully ahead. Her hands were cuffed behind her back – probably to prevent her from using the notorious Vulcan nerve pinch, unless somebody else on board had learned to be cautious about mind melds. It had obviously prevented her from cleaning up after her labors today.

He took the washcloth that was hanging next to the little sink and dampened it. "You're a mess," he said roughly, and started cleaning her face. The rest could wait for a shower. She was trembling ever so slightly. That famous Vulcan control looked damned close to cracking.

He undid her restraints and backed away, pointing the phase pistol in her direction. "Here's something to wear. Get dressed. Sato has agreed you will be more useful with me in engineering than you will be here. I figured you wouldn't mind, given the alternative."

She rolled her shoulders – no doubt the long period in restraints had caused some pain – and slowly dressed.

When she was done, he said, "Put your hands out," and she did. He attached his cuffs. "We'll do these in front for now, but you'd better get used to the other way. Unfortunately I can't trust you not to go in and try to change my damned memories whenever you feel like it."

"I had a duty to Captain Forrest," she said in a low voice. It was the first time she'd spoken. She still hadn't made any eye contact.

"Sure you did," he said sourly, more for the benefit of any listening devices than her. He'd already decided she probably _had_ felt duty-bound. Otherwise, he couldn't quite figure out why she would even bother to tell him what she had done. "I told you you'd regret that," he said, but his words lacked heat. If he'd been able to maintain any genuine anger, he'd have simply left her to her fate.

"Open up," he called, and waited tensely until the MACO let them out. As he marched her down the corridor, he couldn't entirely stop waiting for the shot in the back.

But they got to his quarters without incident. Apparently he wasn't on anyone's hit list that night. He got the shower running, let her out of her cuffs, and sent her in to wash. She stayed a long time, which didn't surprise him after what she'd been through. He checked periodically to make sure she was just washing. She might as well get used to the idea that she had no privacy anymore, but he was also nervous that she would try to kill herself somehow, even though he'd already assessed the danger in the bathroom and couldn't come up with anything. He doubted even Vulcans had enough self-control to drown themselves in a shower.

When she was done, he gave her an old shirt of his to wear, apologized for the necessity of cuffing her hands again, and led her to his bed. He helped her get in and roll over on her side. He attached her cuffs to the wall with a short chain – he'd already installed a hook - then got in next to her and pulled the blanket up. "Get some sleep," he said.

Her breathing turned odd, then, and he finally realized that she was, in her tearless Vulcan way, having some sort of panic attack or breakdown or something. "It's okay," he said, and caressed her arm and massaged her poor strained shoulders. "It's okay, T'Pol. I know it looks bad, but we'll figure out something. There's got to be a way out of this sooner or later."

His touch seemed to soothe her, although she still didn't say a word. Eventually her breathing evened out in sleep. He turned onto his back, staring up into the blue-tinged darkness of his room, and wondered what the hell he was doing. He _never _took risks like this.

And yet he simply couldn't imagine doing anything else.


	28. Demons

**SPOILERS: **"Demons," and it will make little sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Demons" was written by Manny Coto.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** And we're back to the Missing Scenes with just three episodes left. Yikes, I believe I might actually finish this labor of love. And yes, I will do one of these for the last episode. After that I may take a stab at a finale that I think would have been more appealing than what we got, but that would be another missing episode rather than a missing scene, so it would be listed separately. I should probably also note that this missing scene follows my missing episode "Secrets and Sties," but you don't have to read that one to follow along. (Just know that Trip's hand got hurt in his adventures there, and that T'Pol finally broached a very difficult topic.) Oh yeah, and this one comes with a language warning.

**THANK YOU **as always, reviewers – even if you just pop in to tell me I hate men. Yes, I rather suspected that S&S ending was going to spark some masculine outrage...

* * *

Trip squatted uncomfortably in a Jeffries tube and tried to contain his irritation at once again needing to review a procedure with Ensign Masaro that the young man should have mastered years earlier.

Since Captain Hernandez had made off with yet another of Trip's more promising young ensigns, Masaro had had new opportunities to shine recently, but so far he wasn't providing anything more than his usual dim glow.

"Look," Trip said. "After your team installs new flow converters, you _have_ to test them. You can't just assume they're good to go. You test them under partial flow, then step it up until they're taking full pressure. Only then do you sign off on the maintenance cycle as complete."

Masaro's mouth was set in a grim line. In earlier days, Trip remembered, the young man's face would have turned red and he would have promised to do better. This time he appeared detached, almost sullen. Trip frowned, suddenly wondering whether this guy was even playing on his team at all anymore. "So is there a reason you didn't do that?"

"Sir, I've replaced or supervised the replacement of over two hundred and fifty flow converters in my time on _Enterprise_. This is the first time one has malfunctioned."

Trip stared at him, almost certain that was an outright lie, but unwilling to call him out on it without evidence. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I concluded _logically_ that there's no need to test them."

His emphasis on the word 'logically' was strange, as if he were trying to make some other point that Trip just wasn't getting. But then, Masaro had always been a bit of an odd duck. "Look," Trip said. "If you observe something that leads you to conclude one of our procedures doesn't make sense, the thing to do is bring it up. Discuss it with me. You can even discuss it with your colleagues first, if you want. You can bring it to me individually, or you can bring it up at a staff meeting for all of us to discuss. But you don't just unilaterally decide to drop our safety protocols without my approval. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to run through the whole maintenance cycle again with this assembly," Trip said. "Document your results all the way through, and then bring me your report. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. I'll see you later." Trip made his way back down into one of the auxiliary engineering rooms. It was blessedly empty. He straightened up and leaned back against the bulkhead and sighed.

Like everyone else on board at this point, he could really use a break. It felt like there'd been one thing after another for months on end.

He stretched and flexed his right hand. Phlox said it appeared to be well on the way to regaining full function, but the dull, low-level aching and stiffness often made Trip feel clumsy and exasperated. He was also beginning to fear that the discomfort would be with him the rest of his life.

He listened for the sounds of any work being done back up the tube. Yes, there was some clinking, and the hum of a hypospanner. Good. Occasionally he wondered if Masaro sometimes just holed up somewhere and watched movies on a PADD or something.

Was it possible he might have an addiction of some kind? The lying was a sign of that, wasn't it?

He shook his head. He was probably just projecting. He was still digesting what T'Pol had told him about her addiction to Trellium-D. His initial reaction had been astonishment that she could be so damned stupid. But he had also felt touched that she had confessed something so embarrassing to her – and perversely pleased that it was something Jon didn't already know.

Mostly, he'd tried to be as accepting and supportive as he could. He knew she had been terrified to tell him.

But, of course, despite his best intentions, he'd also begun to quietly review their relationship with this new knowledge, tracing back through his memories of the Expanse and her sometimes startling behavior there.

He couldn't help remembering how he'd been covered in Trellium-D the very first night she gave him neuro-pressure. Sure, he'd cleaned up as best he could, but was it possible that initial exposure, that linking of two things she wasn't supposed to enjoy, had somehow set her off down this unlikely road?

After all, she'd told him she kept resorting to Trellium-D because it improved her relationships with the rest of the crew … and with him.

The worst thing had been his sick realization that T'Pol of Vulcan would never have dropped that robe if she hadn't been under the influence of a mind-altering drug.

Not that there was anything to be done about that now. They were bonded. And he certainly couldn't regret that, not for a minute. Hell, he should probably be _thankful_ for her weakness. But that didn't mean he didn't have concerns. Just how much damage _had_ she done to herself? Could she relapse? If she did, would she be a danger to herself or others? Would he recognize the signs? Was it, in fact, reasonable that the captain didn't know about this? What if it became known at Starfleet?

Had her condition in the Expanse cost them any lives?

He sighed. And was it possible all this new tension in his life making him harder on Masaro than he needed to be?

No. No. The guy had fucked up. That was all there was to it. Then he had either lied to try to save face, or genuinely concluded something that any decent engineer would know was out of bounds.

This was simply not a guy Trip was ever going to be able to promote.

It was past time to talk to Jon about getting Masaro off _Enterprise_ the next time they had a crew rotation.

He checked his PADD. _Shit_. It was also past time to meet T'Pol for lunch.

x x x

T'Pol was sipping the last of her plomeek broth when she felt a burst of consternation directed her way and decided she might just get to see her bond mate during lunch after all. And indeed, five minutes later he was there, slipping into the seat next to her and looking apologetic.

"Sorry," he said. "I had a personnel matter that came up." He looked around. The mess hall was fairly busy, and she watched him subtly square his shoulders and assume a more professional air.

"Anything I should know about?" she asked.

He sighed. "I guess." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Masaro, again. He's just not cutting it."

"We'll be back at Earth in two days. Should I attempt to arrange a transfer?"

He frowned. "That's a little too abrupt. It would look very bad for him. But it's definitely time for him to move on at the end of this tour."

"The captain is hoping to do a round of promotions at the end of the current review period. When he is not included in that, the ensign may realize on his own that this is not his ideal career path."

"That's the thing," Trip said. "I never know what this guy is going to conclude, only that chances are at least 50-50 it will be something other than what I was hoping for."

"Are you not hungry?" she asked, knowing very well that he must be. It had been her observation for many years now that Charles Tucker III's temperament was never optimal when he lacked sustenance.

"Yeah, let me get some food." He smiled at her. "Can you stay a little while?"

"I can," she said, and watched as her mate got up to serve himself a meal. He flexed his right hand several times at his side as he peered at the selection laid out on the shelves. Perhaps he was not even conscious that he was doing it. Perhaps some neuro-pressure would be appropriate later.

Of course, for them neuro-pressure tended to quickly evolve into more intimate activities. That wasn't a bad thing, for quite beyond the physical pleasure involved, at this point T'Pol rather needed that reassurance that her bond mate still wanted her.

Not that he had said or done anything to indicate otherwise, but she nonetheless felt quite certain that Trip no longer regarded her as quite so … what? Admirable? Intelligent?

Trustworthy?

In the wake of her confession about Trellium-D, she could see the bright, sensitive man behind those blue eyes and friendly face quietly making recalculations and re-assessing their entire history. He had become at once more distant from her and more protective of her. Not that he spoke aloud about of any of this. He had never even mentioned Trellium-D once since that first conversation.

Nor had he pestered her for any further mind melding.

Probably he didn't want her to know what he was thinking.

Of course, Trip was nothing if not loyal. Hopefully, they would get through this period of adjustment without lasting damage to their relationship. In the meantime, she was relying more than ever on Surak's disciplines – perhaps especially since her instinctive reaction to the slightest hint of distance from her bond mate was to long rather desperately for just one more dose of Trellium-D.

Fortunately, all of the ore had long since been transferred to Starfleet for research purposes.

She hoped Trip would not see her embrace of Surak's disciplines as her own form of distancing, although she was not sure, in his current state, how much he would notice or care.

_Cast out fear,_ Surak said. T'Pol meditated on it daily.

They would get through this. They had to.

x x x

He didn't believe her. He didn't believe her when she said she'd never been pregnant.

But how could he doubt her about that?

Didn't he realize that no Vulcan and Human could reproduce without medical intervention? They had already discussed the challenges they would face if they wanted to try to have children.

But she had held back so much from him. Perhaps, to his mind, this was just one more thing.

When she confronted him, he tried to pretend he believed her. But she heard the disbelief in his voice, just as she'd seen it in his face in sickbay. She didn't dare touch him, to feel his disbelief and know with certainty that her bond mate had so little trust in her. It would grieve her too much.

Also, they had a more urgent priority now.

The baby. They had to find her.

And then, she hoped, they would all get through this, too, somehow.

They had to.


	29. Terra Prime Part I

**SPOILERS:** "Terra Prime" and "Demons" and it will make little sense without them.

**DISCLAIMER: **All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount, not me. "Terra Prime" was written by Judith Reeves-Stevens, Garfield Reeves-Stevens and Manny Coto.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Someone asked me to drag this out … and I'm obliging. This is just Part I. I don't mind doing this, because the sequence of events in this episode frankly seems a little weird to me, and this is my way of trying to make sense of it.

Thank you as always, reviewers!

* * *

Trip got to hold his daughter exactly twice.

It wasn't that anyone tried to prevent him from doing so. At first, it was mostly because he'd fractured his forearm in the fall he took after he got shot.

As Phlox put him in a temporary split, he said, "Is there something wrong with my damned arms that they keep breaking?"

Phlox frowned. "You may recall that you took a serious radiation dose just two months ago. The therapy required for that has caused a temporary deficit in calcium formation in your healthy bones."

"What?" He'd expected to be reassured, not informed that he had become Mr. Brittle.

"I assure you it's a temporary condition, and one unlikely to bother you if you could just avoid more excessive blunt trauma. After another six months or so – and perhaps some additional weight training – your bones should return to full strength. And this is just a hairline fracture. It should heal in a matter of days … _if_ you follow my directions." Phlox then sat back on his heels – for they were both on the floor of the corridor outside Paxton's control room – and gave him an appraising look. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Trip said impatiently. He hadn't seen T'Pol yet, but he could feel her anxiety surging, and his along with it.

Phlox prepared a hypo spray. "This will help with the swelling," he said, as Trip bared his neck and let him inject it. "And the stress."

Trip glared at him. "You better not have just given me a sedative!"

Phlox said mildly, "Just getting your blood pressure down a little, Commander."

Despite himself, Trip appreciated the sudden mild sensation of liquid calm. He lowered his voice. "She's worried about the baby."

Phlox looked at him in surprise, then turned as Travis appeared with T'Pol, who was holding the baby protectively against her chest.

Phlox said jovially, "Well, now, who do we have here?"

"She's dying," T'Pol said. Her beseeching eyes met Trip's and he swallowed painfully.

"Let's not jump to any conclusions, hmm?" Phlox said. "Perhaps you could lay her down on Mr. Tucker's lap here so I can examine her."

T'Pol just clutched the baby harder. Perhaps, like Trip, she was wondering why Phlox wanted to do that here, on the floor of the corridor, although this was where the captain had asked them to wait while he and Malcolm and a freshly-arrived team of MACO's secured Paxton's facility.

"Why don't we just transport her up to sickbay?" Trip asked.

"Let's take a look first," Phlox said, giving T'Pol a pointed look. "I'd like to avoid a decon cycle if we can."

T'Pol apparently saw the logic of that and carefully lay the baby down in Trip's lap, then sank down next to him. "What happened?" she asked, nodding towards the new splint.

"It's minor," he said, focused on the warm weight in his lap. The baby certainly didn't look like she was dying to him. She lay quietly in his lap, watching Phlox wave his scanner.

So this was his daughter.

He put his right index finger in her little hand and her tiny fingers closed on it. She looked at it, and then she looked at him.

And just like that, Trip was in love.

x x x

The second time he held her, she was dead.

"It can't hurt her if I hold her now, can it?" he said to Phlox, and the doctor lifted poor little Elizabeth's still-warm weight onto his better shoulder and Trip put his head up against her little one and hugged her and nuzzled her and told her how sorry he was.

Next to him, he felt T'Pol lean her head up against her, too, and release exactly one choked sob.

Eventually, he said, "Take her," and watched as she laid their little girl out on the bio-bed. T'Pol's hands convulsively smoothed her daughter's body. "I want to wash her," she told Phlox.

Phlox said, "Of course," and brought her a basin of warm water and some cleanser and some towels. With shaking hands that gradually steadied, T'Pol undressed their daughter and cleaned her and dried her and then wrapped her up again in a clean blanket that Phlox had provided. She left Elizabeth's little face uncovered, as if she were sleeping, but her pallor was profound and there was no mistaking it for life.

"What happens now?" Trip asked T'Pol softly, since she seemed to know what she was doing.

"We sit with her," she said.

"Okay," he said, though he wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that.

Jon, who had been hovering at a distance, seemed to recognize that something had settled somehow, and came over. "I'm so sorry," he said to T'Pol, who nodded solemnly and looked down, and then he turned to Trip and simply said, "Trip," and pulled him into a hug. Trip accepted that contact gratefully, but it also unraveled what was left of his tenuous self-control, and suddenly he was gasping with tears.

"It's okay," Jon said, rubbing his back, and with that permission, Trip just went ahead and lost it, sobbing, conscious underneath it all that Jon would probably be able to cope with him doing this far better than T'Pol could. Even as overwhelmed as he was with his own grief, he could sense that she was just barely holding it together. And so, in an odd kind of way, he let himself do the crying for both of them.

Eventually Trip pulled back, and Jon nodded sadly at him, wiping a few tears from his own eyes, and excused himself. Phlox brought chairs, and a steward showed up with a meal for each of them, which they barely touched, though T'Pol did sip her tea with both hands wrapped around the mug as if she desperately needed the warmth.

Trip wished he could touch her. "Is this really the best place to do this?" he asked her.

"We will need the room."

"Why?"

"For the crew," she explained.

"The _crew_?" he said. "I thought Vulcans went into ritual seclusion after a death in the family." That particular tradition sounded damned good to him at the moment. Jon's sympathy had already undone him once. He didn't think he could handle a whole ship's worth.

"That traditionally occurs after disposition of the remains, but I assume that Phlox will need to perform an autopsy." She looked over at Phlox, who had never really left, just hovered nearby. "Am I correct, Doctor?"

Phlox looked uncomfortable. "Yes, but I'm afraid it goes further than that. Her body is likely going to be evidence in a criminal proceeding."

Trip scowled. "We can't even _mourn _for her the normal way."

"I'm so sorry," Phlox said.

x x x

Hoshi arrived next, to offer them her condolences and tell them how lovely Elizabeth was. And then, to Trip's surprise, she took charge. "If you want to have a wake, that's better done in the conference room," she said. "I can get it set up. I already spoke to Soval and he is having a traditional casket and a burial costume transported up - if that's okay with you."

Trip looked at T'Pol. "It is," T'Pol said. "Thank you, Ensign."

Hoshi added, "I know it's not Vulcan custom, but may I also bring a candle and some flowers for her?"

If T'Pol had the same sense he did that everything was suddenly spiraling even more out of their control, she didn't show it. She just said, "I believe you will find an appropriate candle in my quarters."

"Do we really need flowers?" Trip said. Did they really need _any _of this?

"Just something simple," Hoshi said. "If you don't like it, for whatever reason, I'll take away. I'll be back shortly."

She left and he turned to T'Pol. "Are you really up for this?"

Was her glance just a touch resentful? "All that's left now is to complete our duties toward her," she said.

Yes, this was all they could do for Elizabeth now. But he felt chilled and couldn't help parsing her grammar. Had that been a shot across his bow? Was T'Pol going to pull away from him?

That was, after all, exactly what she had done after her mother's death.

But, no. That wouldn't happen this time. It wouldn't happen because he wouldn't let it happen. She was his bond mate. He'd sit on her if he had to.

Hoshi soon returned with the burial costume, followed by Crewman Cunningham, who was carrying a small casket woven of some kind of reeds. She left to arrange more details, while Cunningham expressed his condolences and waited awkwardly in case his help was required. Trip watched as T'Pol dressed Elizabeth in a simple robe of pale white brocade and laid her in the casket. She looked down at her appraisingly for a moment, then took the IDIC she'd attached to the incubator and laid it on daughter's chest.

"Is white a customary color for this or something?" he asked.

"I don't know," T'Pol said. "We never saw my father's body, and there was no time to bury my mother with any ceremony. I have never seen a burial robe before. Vulcans don't usually display their corpses outside the family."

He winced at her use of the word "corpses," even as he realized it was ridiculous to expect a Vulcan to employ delicate euphemisms for death when they didn't use them for anything else. "Then why are we doing it now?" he said.

She turned to him in obvious surprise. "Is this not the Human custom?"

"It's pretty common," he said. "But it's not a requirement. We don't have to do it."

"Our fellow crewmen never got to meet our daughter," T'Pol said.

He blinked. "And they never will. She's _dead_."

T'Pol just looked at him.

Cunningham cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should go?"

T'Pol turned to him. "Crewman, does it matter to you that you've seen our daughter?"

Cunningham looked helplessly at Trip, whose mouth had fallen open in surprise that T'Pol would ask the steward such a question. Recognizing the man's difficult position, he shrugged permission at him to answer.

"Well, ma'm," Cunningham said. "To be honest … yes, it matters. It helps me understand your loss better. She was lovely. And so young."

Trip felt his eyes fill and lowered his head. Perhaps this was why he didn't want to do this. All these people 'understanding his loss' was going to kill him.

"Thank you, Crewman," T'Pol said. "Trip, you yourself have often noted that _Enterprise's_ crew is like a family. As a crew we have always marked our losses together. But if you are strongly opposed, I yield to your judgment."

Trip sighed. "No, I guess you're right. Let's do it."

"Shall I carry her to the conference room?" Cunningham asked.

"Thank you, Crewman, but I would prefer to carry her myself," T'Pol said, and lifted the small casket into her arms.

Trip just followed her to the door. Having a broken arm at a time like this made him feel even more powerless, which was all too fitting. He couldn't stop Paxton, he couldn't save his daughter, and now he couldn't even carry her tiny little casket.

T'Pol stopped at the door, the casket in her arms, and waited for him.

He wondered why she'd stopped, then realized that she wanted him to go first, as a Vulcan husband would - the better to defend his wife from sehlats or rival clans, or whatever other threats ancient Vulcan had thrown at its cave couples. As if he could actually defend anyone right now. Still, he appreciated the small token of deference, so he gave her a small, tight smile and led the way.

TO BE CONTINUED


	30. Terra Prime Part II

**DISCLAIMERS, ETC.** in Part I

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **And on we go. Thanks so much, reviewers, for your kind support.

* * *

In the conference room, which really had been set up a bit like a funeral parlor, they arranged her casket at the far end of the room. Hoshi provided a single lit candle and ringed the casket with small mounds of white chrysanthemums.

Trip knew they didn't grow such things in hydroponics. "Where the heck did you find those?"

"A florist," she said matter-of-factly. "We're in orbit over San Francisco. The captain is having your family flown up, but it will be another couple of hours before they get here. It's taking awhile to round them all up."

He had never even felt the ship break Mars orbit. He went to the window and looked. Yep, there was Earth, a gigantic jewel beneath them. "Why aren't we in space dock?"

"Security concerns," she said.

So his family was coming. He supposed he should be grateful they would get to see his daughter, however briefly.

"Are you ready?" Hoshi asked.

_No_, he thought.

He looked at T'Pol, who was simply waiting for his answer, so he said, "Yeah, I guess so."

x x x

The line snaked through the room and out the doors.

Trip shook hand after hand, including Nathan Samuels' and Admiral Gardner's and Admiral Black's. He received countless hugs. Meanwhile, T'Pol stood next to him with her hands at her sides and solemnly thanked each visitor for his or her concern.

Soval and a Vulcan priest and some other Vulcan he didn't recognize appeared. "Displaying your dead in this manner is something of a break from Vulcan tradition," the one he didn't know said.

"Our daughter was not in any way a product of Vulcan tradition," T'Pol said, so definitively that Trip looked at her with concern.

The man lowered his eyes and said, "I grieve with thee." The priest chanted a little prayer in Vulcan over the casket, and then laid his hands on T'Pol's head. To his surprise, she sought out Trip's hand as he did so. It was the first real physical contact between them in hours and exposed Trip to such a burst of seething fury that he nearly yanked his hand away as if burned.

The difference between her outer aspect and her inner emotions was startling, to say the least.

"You require meditation," the priest told her, fairly sternly, and then turned his gaze towards Trip. "See to it."

"I'll do my best," he said, a little nonplussed. It wasn't as if he could _force_ her to meditate.

Soval said, "Your child's death is deeply regrettable. I grieve with thee."

"Thank you," Trip said.

"We are grateful for your practical assistance as well," T'Pol said.

"I am honored to serve," Soval said. "Please don't hesitate to request further assistance of any kind." He gave Trip an oddly meaningful look and moved on.

Among the crew, most of the condolences were pretty much the same as everyone else's – what could anyone really say that was different? – and they all more or less blended together in his mind, differentiated only by odd moments, like the unexpected warmth from Kelby, or the way Rostov turned into a blubbering mess and had to be dragged off by Crewman Kelly. Chef brought them food and tried to bully them into eating it, then left it rather petulantly behind "for anyone who might decide to appreciate it later."

Malcolm came near the end and hovered until the room finally emptied out. "Travis has gone to pick up your family," he said. "But it may be another hour. Your brother was at a conference in Jakarta, your sister in Ireland, and your parents in Mississippi."

"What time is it?" Trip asked, who truly had no idea at this point.

"Just after 1900 hours," Malcolm said. "Wednesday," he added, perhaps because Trip had reacted so blankly. "What would you say to some whiskey?"

"I would say bless you," Trip said. "T'Pol, do you want anything?"

Her eyes rose to his. Her face was white, her body stiff as concrete, arms stiff at her side.

Trip stared at her for a moment, struck by the perception that she might just crack in two, like a piece of marble, and remembered what the priest had told him. "Malcolm, could you go to T'Pol's quarters and get that big flat cushion she keeps on her floor, and the big meditation candle that sits on that little platform in front of it, and bring them here?"

"Sure," Malcolm said, and disappeared.

"You need to meditate," Trip told her.

She didn't move a centimeter. "I'm not sure I can."

"Then just try," he said gently, and when Malcolm showed up with the items he'd requested, he helped arrange her cushion and then guided her from her rigid standing position until she was sitting facing Elizabeth and away from the door. That white-hot rage was still boiling just under the surface, so he quickly used the candle Hoshi had left earlier to light T'Pol's meditation candle and put it in front of her. "Just try," he said. "If nothing else, at least you can have a little quiet. Malcolm and I will be right outside the door. Holler if you need me."

He grabbed a plate of the food Chef had left and followed Malcolm out the door.

"Is she going to be all right?" Malcolm asked.

Trip said. "I don't know. Would you be?"

Malcolm said, "I don't even want to try to imagine."

Trip lowered himself to the deck, sitting against the door. No one was getting through there unless he let them.

Malcolm left and returned with the bottle of Talisker Trip had given him months ago. He poured them each a shot and offered a toast. "To Elizabeth."

They drank and then they munched on cheese squares and bread sticks and for a long time they said nothing at all. Trip appreciated the silence. Every once in awhile a crewman would pass by, nodding at them and then quickly moving along after receiving a warning glare from Malcolm.

Eventually Trip poured them each another shot and raised it in a toast. "To my sister Elizabeth."

Malcolm raised his glass. "To your sister Elizabeth."

"It was T'Pol who suggested we name her Elizabeth," Trip said, sharing what had been a very sweet moment for him, and noticed Malcolm's slight grimace. "_Before_ we knew she was dying."

"Ah," Malcolm said, looking just a bit relieved.

"I guess it hasn't been a very lucky name," Trip said, and almost choked on a sudden sick impulse to laugh at the dark coincidence of two dead Elizabeth Tuckers. He knew this was something a Vulcan could never understand, and that Malcolm might also consider pretty damned awful. Feeling a little desperate, he poured them each another splash and raised another toast: "To Elizabeth's grandmother, T'Les." Perhaps invoking that vaguely disapproving figure would sober him.

"To T'Les," Malcolm said, in a slightly puzzled tone, and drank.

"Do you believe in an afterlife?" Trip asked.

Malcolm immediately looked wary.

"And if there is one," Trip said, without waiting for a reply, "do you think a Vulcan grandmother would get to meet her cloned half-Vulcan granddaughter in it?

"I don't know. If she did, would she know who it was?"

"Oh, good question," Trip said. "Maybe there'd be some kind of funky Vulcan grandma bond."

T'Pol had claimed to have felt a bond of some kind with Elizabeth even before they found her, but Trip had never felt anything beyond that rush of stunned adoration that he suspected any father would feel.

Would Elizabeth recognize _him_ in an afterlife_? _

She probably knew Susan Khouri better than she knew him. Hell, she probably knew _Paxton _better than she knew him.

He poured another slug and downed it.

Life was too short. Sometimes way too short. Brutally, terribly short. That's all there was to it.

Malcolm said, "You know, I never really thought much about an afterlife until we ran into those incorporeal beings who wanted to take us over – do you remember? It seems to me that if we were able to pop out of our bodies as those little wispy things and then return, that's proof that there's more to us than just…" He gestured down at his own seated figure. "…this."

Trip said, "And then there was that whole thing with Surak's katra."

"Yes," Malcolm said, sounding less enthused.

Trip put his glass down and folded his arms. "The thing is … I don't know about you, Malcolm, but when I was floating around as a wisp, I didn't run into anybody I knew. Hopalong Cassidy was a fictional character. The real Lisa was back on Earth. It was pure fantasy."

"Very pleasant fantasy," Malcolm said.

"Yeah, but … it was just me, confabulating. Nothing was _real._" Certainly there had been no reunions with lost loved ones. Perhaps that made sense given how far away they were from Earth at that point … but then that implied that distance mattered, and how could it if you were transcending the physical realm? And then there was the reality that Elizabeth had essentially died in the lonely vacuum of space, far from any other souls – unless _Enterprise _somehow managed to drags its own dead around.

He pictured Matt Hayes picking up Elizabeth and telling her he'd make sure no one bothered her, but she'd have to train harder than she'd ever trained before.

No, not Hayes. Someone else. Jane Taylor, maybe.

Or Sim. Oh, that would be almost perfect.

And this train of thought was insane. He leaned back against the bulkhead and said, "Don't let me have any more. I don't want my mother to see me drunk at my daughter's wake."

"Trip, when your parents are coming is no time to stop drinking."

Trip finally did laugh at that one.

Malcolm poured only himself a glass and raised it to Trip. "To family," he said sardonically, and then added, more seriously, "and to friends," and downed it. "You didn't deserve this. Not that anybody would."

Trip sighed. "Malcolm, what the hell was Paxton was thinking? I get that he wanted to chase all the aliens away. I can understand going all isolationist. But creating a sweet little baby girl and telling the world she's the biggest threat to humanity? How the hell was that supposed to help his cause?"

The tactical officer looked down at his empty glass. "Who knows. Maybe he thought he was somehow making literal the extent to which he feels Starfleet is in bed with the Vulcans. Or maybe it was more basic than that. One of Starfleet's profilers says he may suffer from an extreme case of obsessive compulsive disorder. The Lunar Colony was known for the purity of its ore. And Paxton idolized Colonel Green, who was all about genetic purity. That could be why he thought the population would react with the same horror he did to a half-Human, half-Vulcan baby. Instead, of course, pretty much everyone turned to mush the instant they saw her."

Trip stared across the corridor. "He said someone on _Enterprise_ gave them samples of our genetic material."

"Yes. And we think we know who."

Trip felt his stomach clench. As much as all the faces of the last two hours had blended together, one member of his staff had been conspicuously absent. "Masaro?"

Malcolm turned to him in obvious surprise. "How did you know?"

"Did he confess?"

"Not exactly. He's dead. Took a phase pistol to his own head. But first he told the captain to tell his parents he was sorry, that he hadn't wanted anyone to get hurt."

Trip swallowed. Another young life snuffed out. At least this meant he didn't have to spend the rest of his own life wanting to kill the bastard. "Did he just take ours, or other people's too?"

"We don't know yet. And he was obviously lying about not hurting people, if the sabotage he did to the shuttle is any indication. Of course, we've been checking and re-checking to make sure he was the only one we have to worry about."

Trip resisted the strong desire to down another shot. "There was always something a little off there. I should have realized."

"I'm in charge of security. _I'm_ the one who should have realized."

Trip shook his head. "Honestly, Malcolm. How could anyone ever have anticipated something like this?"

Malcolm scowled. "Starfleet Intelligence knew _something_ was up. I wish they had alerted us earlier." His communicator beeped, and soon Hoshi's voice was saying, "Commander Tucker's family is here. Should we bring them along?"

Trip stood up – yes, he could still keep his feet under him – and nodded, so Malcolm said, "Yes, go ahead."

Malcolm picked up the bottle and glasses and the half-empty plate and said, "I'd better go stow these."

He walked off and Trip felt a flutter of misgiving. He resolved to keep everyone outside the door until any shrieking and hugging was over. T'Pol had never had to deal with a full onslaught of Tuckers before.

TO BE CONTINUED


	31. Terra Prime Part III

**DISCLAIMERS, ETC.** in Part I

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I'm afraid this one just keeps getting longer, but "Terra Prime" necessarily skipped over a great deal for our favorite couple and I just can't help wanting to connect the dots. Language warning on this one. You can expect at least one more part. My sincere thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

It was only when he saw his father's stricken face staring at Elizabeth in her casket that Trip suddenly remembered that this might be particularly difficult for the man who had long battled serious depression over the loss of his own daughter Elizabeth … and who'd also lost an infant daughter a long time ago, along with his first wife.

Damn. Why had he even come? Why had they brought him? Was it fair that he had to worry about his dad at a time like this?

Not that life was _fair._ Two dead Elizabeths were already proof enough of that.

He watched his mother, gone quite pale, rub her hand up and down his father's back and peer anxiously into his face when she wasn't also staring at her deceased granddaughter. "Oh, the poor dear," she said. "Oh, Trip darling, T'Pol honey, I'm so sorry."

T'Pol stood calmly, just watching. She had handled the influx of Tuckers without any obvious difficulty, but Trip knew that appearances could be deceiving.

He suspected that she had sensed their imminent arrival through their bond, for she had already begun rising to her feet before he went in to warn her.

Actually, his family had been unusually quiet. Cathy and Nate had come without their spouses or their children, which Trip thought was a good thing, and nobody forced a hug on T'Pol, although his mother did grab her hands and hold them in her own for a moment as she said how sorry she was.

Even his grandmother, who was using a cane now, had been restrained. Or perhaps she had just been confused. She stared at Elizabeth. "But she has pointed ears!" she said.

"Yes, Grandma," Trip said. "Elizabeth is half Vulcan, half human. T'Pol was her mother."

"But why didn't you _tell _us you had a baby?" Grandma wailed.

"We only just found out," Trip said.

Cathy said, "Remember what we told you, Grandma? About that awful man Paxton? How he cloned a baby?"

"Of course I do," Grandma said. "But what is that poor dear doing _here_?"

Cathy said, "She's their baby, even if they didn't know about her until…?" She looked at Trip.

"Uh… I guess we found out about her four days ago. The first time we saw her was… yesterday," Trip said. "And she died … earlier this afternoon." He looked at T'Pol. He hadn't really had a moment to think about the timeline before now.

It was insane.

How could he feel so much over something that had happened so fast?

"How awful for you," his mother said. "How awful. And such a pretty little girl. Just look at her."

His father kept looking, but said nothing.

Grandma said, "She's got just the same brow line Trip had as a baby. And Lizzie. Those are the Anthony eyebrows. They're a mark of intelligence, if you ask me."

Trip frowned. He had never thought to link intelligence to that particular facial feature, not that it mattered now. "At least she didn't get the Tucker nose," he said, and Cathy and Nate snorted a little at the old family joke.

There was no reaction from his father, whose ski jump was more pronounced than anyone's.

Cathy said, "So what's going to happen next?"

Trip looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Will there be a funeral? A memorial service?"

Trip looked at T'Pol. They'd both just been swept along up to now. Where was Hoshi when you needed her?

"We haven't discussed it," T'Pol said. "What would be customary?"

His mom smiled sadly. "Well, now, you probably should do something at some point … it's usually within four or five days, although some believe in being much faster about it."

"As do Vulcans," T'Pol said, "But we know that will not be possible in this case."

"Elizabeth's body may not be available to us for some time," Trip explained quickly, before T'Pol could use the word 'corpse' again.

"It took us weeks to organize a memorial for Lizzie," Cathy said. Her eyes flickered to their father, who was still just staring at the baby in her casket. "Of course, we kept hoping she'd show up somewhere. Honestly, for something like this, I think you can probably just do whatever you want to do."

Nate said, "Just let us know. We'll be there, assuming you do it on Earth and not on Vulcan."

"It won't be on Vulcan," T'Pol said, and Trip looked at her in some surprise.

"Well, I guess we'll figure it out and let you know," he said. "We just haven't had any time to think at all."

"You poor dears," his mom said. "It's just the most awful feeling, I know. I bet you can't believe it's really happening."

His father finally turned around. "Try not to think about it too much, that's my advice," he said, and hugged his son. "It won't help. Let's go, people." He nodded politely at T'Pol and began shepherding his mother-in-law to the door. His mom quickly hugged him again, saying, "I'm so, so sorry, honey!" and then hurried after them.

"Will you be all right?" Cathy asked him.

Trip shrugged. "Do I have any choice?"

"No." She turned to T'Pol. "It was nice to meet you at last. I'm sorry it was under these circumstances."

"It was agreeable to meet you as well," T'Pol said.

Nate, as usual, had less to say. He patted Trip on the shoulder and nodded politely to T'Pol and said, "Hang in there," to both of them, then scrambled after his sister.

"You don't wish to escort them?" T'Pol asked him.

"Malcolm said he would take care of it," he said, and sighed. It was the first time they'd been alone in what felt like days. "Did you meditate?"

"A little."

"Then you probably need more," he said.

"Yes."

He turned and looked down at their beautiful girl. Nothing about her had changed in the last three hours. All he could smell was chrysanthemums and T'Pol's candles. It was perhaps a mercy that one seldom had to worry about insects on a starship. Still, he had to assume that the inevitable, obscene march of decomposition was underway. "So what now?"

"I imagine Phlox will want to get started soon."

"Is waiting a little longer going to screw it up?"

"I don't believe so. There appears to be a small stasis field operating in the bottom of the casket. Can you not hear the hum?"

"You have much better hearing than I do." He put his hand out and touched the bottom edge of the casket. Yes, there was just a bit of vibration there. "How practical of Soval."

"Vulcans don't embalm."

Trip frowned and pulled out her mat and placed it where he had before, then moved her meditation candle back to the floor. He was tempted to sit down next to her, but he didn't think he could manage to remain pretzeled there comfortably for very long, so he dragged a chair over. "Go ahead and meditate," he said. "I'm just going to sit here quietly with both of you."

x x x

"Trip?" T'Pol's soft voice had an urgent tone.

"Mmmm?" Trip blinked awake. Damn it. He'd drooled.

The captain's voice said, "Phlox needs to take Elizabeth now."

"Uh?" He scrambled to his feet, disoriented to find himself in the conference room, and felt his heart contract as unpleasant reality flooded back. The candle Hoshi had brought had burnt out, and T'Pol's meditation candle was out, too; the room seemed much darker even though the light of the two candles could hardly have made that much of a difference.

"With your permission, Commander?" Phlox said.

"She'll be in sickbay?"

"Yes," Phlox said. "I'll let you know about any plans to move her."

"Is this for the autopsy?"

"Yes."

Trip resisted the urge to ask if the doctor was going to have to cut her open. He didn't really want to know. He reached out to touch his little girl one last time. Her cheek was so cold. "Goodbye, sweetheart."

T'Pol simply lifted her IDIC out of the casket.

They stepped back, allowing Phlox to move in with the casket lid they had left behind in sickbay. He and one of the MACOs closed it and carried it out with more ceremony than T'Pol had employed in bringing it in.

They left, but Jon stayed. "How are you two holding up?" he asked.

Trip just shrugged. T'Pol didn't answer either. "Thanks for getting my family up here," Trip said.

"It was the least I could do," Jon said.

Trip sighed. "So… I guess this is pretty much it, for now."

Archer frowned. "Not exactly. Starfleet is eager to debrief both of you about what happened with Paxton … and also about your relationship." He sighed. "I've been fighting them since we got back and I'm still not sure how this is going to work out. For that matter, I'm not absolutely sure how you _want_ it to work out. I'd _like_ to keep you both here if at all possible."

"Are they trying to get rid of us?" Trip said.

"No, but there are serious questions about whether you can still serve together on _Enterprise_, especially given that the whole planet now assumes you're in a relationship."

"We _are _in a relationship," Trip said.

"I know," Jon said. "Unfortunately, if that's the official story, I don't think I'll be able to keep you both."

Trip growled, "Which would mean you wouldn't get _either _of us."

"Commander Tucker and I will require time to discuss the matter," T'Pol said.

"I know," Jon said. "I imagine you could use some sleep, too. I've managed to hold them off until 0900 tomorrow. But at that point, you can expect plenty of pointed questions. Whatever you decide, I'd like to avoid any inconsistencies in our approach. So, fill me before then, okay? Or if you just want to talk. I'm available. Any time. Wake me up, I won't mind."

"Thank you, Captain," T'Pol said.

Trip just nodded curtly. He knew that Jon just doing his job, and that Starfleet was just doing _its_ job, but that couldn't stop him from being offended by the timing of it.

x x x

"How long was I out?" Trip asked T'Pol as he followed her out of the conference room.

"Thirty-two minutes," she said, and then after a moment added, "You snored."

"Was it so loud you couldn't meditate?"

"It did not interfere significantly," she said. "But you will require more sleep than that."

"And you will require more meditation." He didn't even bother to see if anyone was in the corridor before he followed her into her quarters. He was carrying her mat, after all. He replaced it, then sniffed at a familiar smell and said, "Look."

Trays of food had been left on T'Pol's desk, including more of the cheese squares, a selection of fruit, a jar full of bread sticks, and an entire half of a pecan pie, along with some thermal beverage containers. "Perhaps Chef decided to forgive our lack of enthusiasm for his offerings earlier," T'Pol said.

"I'd put my money on Hoshi," Trip said. "Chef doesn't usually forgive that quickly." He watched T'Pol eye the food. "You should eat."

"Vulcans generally fast for the first day after the loss of a family member."

"Of course they do," Trip said, deflated. Why did Vulcans always have to find the most unpleasant way to get through any crisis? "You'd hate what we do where I come from. I was honestly kind of surprised that Mom didn't show up with a cake and a casserole."

T'Pol sat down on her bunk. "Was it an indication of disapproval that she did not?"

"No!" Trip said. "She probably just didn't have time. Why would you think she might disapprove?"

T'Pol looked very tired suddenly. "No reason. Your mother has always been kind."

He sat down next to her, concerned. "And that surprises you?"

She looked down at her hands in her lap. "The Vulcan who came with Soval and the priest. Did you know him?"

"No."

"His name is Fe'rat. He is a psychiatrist affiliated with the Vulcan consulate. When I went to see Soval before our trip to Vulcan, he was there."

"Oh," Trip said, remembering back to how unsettled T'Pol had been after that meeting. "Maybe they're concerned about how you might be coping with all this."

"I should not have been surprised that Fer'at felt the need to point out the nontraditional nature of the activity. At the time of our last meeting, he asked me why I had not married yet, as a normal Vulcan woman would have. Of course, they both appeared to assume that I wished to join Starfleet so I could stay close to Captain Archer."

Trip smiled, amused. "As if you'd actually do that for a _guy_."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Is that why you grabbed my hand? When the priest was saying … whatever he was saying?"

"You are Elizabeth's father. I thought you should participate in the prayer."

"I don't even know Vulcan," Trip said. He was a little disappointed. He supposed he'd hoped that it had been T'Pol's way of showing those Vulcans who she was with. "I know you were very angry. Was it because of Fe'rat?"

T'Pol blinked at him. "Are you not angry about what happened to our daughter?"

"Yes, of course I am." He sighed. "But if I let myself dwell on that I'll go crazy. And that won't help Elizabeth now. Or you."

"I believe it may take me somewhat longer than you to fully dispel my rage," she said, in her usual calm tone. She looked at the food again. "You should eat."

"I had some earlier," he said. "Perhaps I should get rid of all this, since you can't have any."

"There's no need. I see no particular reason to slavishly observe Vulcan custom at this point; at the moment I'm simply not hungry."

"Do you want to meditate?"

"No," she said.

"Sleep?" he said.

"The captain wants to know what we are going to say to Starfleet tomorrow."

Trip blinked tiredly at her. "If I have to think about that right now, all I'm going to be able to come up with is 'Fuck Starfleet'."

She just looked at him.

He grimaced. "Okay, so maybe I am still angry."

"You need sleep."

"I need _you_," he said, and held out his hand.

She put hers in it – yes, she was still pulsing with anger – and he put it up against his cheek. "I love you," he said.

Her eyes filled, and he could feel a rush of warmth and gratitude back at him through her hand, so strong that he felt only a twinge of disappointment that she hadn't actually said it back.

She never would say it back, would she? Apparently Vulcans just didn't. Or at least this Vulcan didn't. "So what do you need now?" he said briskly. "A shower? Sleep? Neuro-pressure? Or do you want me to leave you alone for awhile?"

"Please stay."

"Okay." At least she was willing to say _that._

"What do _you_ need, Trip?"

_I need you to tell me that you love me too_, he thought, but that was too much like saying _I need you to not be Vulcan for awhile_ and so he did not say it. "Neuro-pressure would be nice," he said, instead. T'Pol's hands had always done her sweet talking for her.

"Very well," she said, and leaned forward to lift his sling from around his neck.

He sat more passively than usual and let her undress him.

This too, he told himself, was love.

x x x

T'Pol pressed the neural nodes on her mate's back, releasing knots as she went, and felt his muscles relaxing under her touch – relaxing in some measure, at least, but not entirely, because that constraining, tangled net of rage, fear, anxiety, guilt, disbelief, and loneliness that she had learned to associate with a grieving Trip after his sister died was back again.

Still, he was not as bad now as he had been then. Then, he had also simmered with a nihilistic desire for revenge at any cost. Now, he was angry, but not angry to the point of murderousness. Not angry to the point that it blocked out everything good in his life.

Not as angry as she was.

Of course, it was also possible he simply hadn't fully realized his loss yet. Or perhaps, not having had an opportunity to bond with their daughter, her loss necessarily had less of an impact on him.

Or perhaps he was being usefully distracted by his need to care for her and look for a way forward for both of them.

She was grateful that he could do that, for she was truly struggling with rage. She thought losing her mother had been difficult, but losing this child felt like having flesh ripped from her own body, leaving behind a hole that would never heal. She wanted to kill Paxton. Slowly. She wanted to watch him seize with fever and weaken and struggle to draw breath, and if he fell into a coma, she wanted to wake him up and make him go through that terrible struggle all over again.

Except that none of that would be enough revenge, not really, unless she could also somehow also subtract from him all his memories of being held in a mother's safe embrace, of his entire childhood, of home, of growing up, of becoming a man.

"T'Pol?" Trip had no doubt noticed her hands going still on his back.

"I apologize," she said, and resumed.

"You know, we don't have to do this now," he said. He was looking out for her once again, but she had felt his disappointment earlier, when he'd told her he loved her and she hadn't responded in kind, and she could sense him steeling himself for this disappointment, too.

"You need this," she said, and tried once again to focus on him. Surely it was the least she could do.

Why couldn't she say it? Didn't she love him? And wouldn't it comfort him to hear it?

_But we don't say that. Vulcans don't speak of their emotions. Emotions are shameful._

Yet she'd spoken of her rage. Revenge wasn't Vulcan either, yet she was letting fantasies of _that _consume her.

Besides, her mate was not Vulcan. Her child was not fully Vulcan. Her child's wake had not been Vulcan. Why was she trying to force her bond with this Human into the Vulcan mold when it had never fit into the Vulcan mold and never would?

Maybe there was a more fundamental reason she was avoiding this. Over and over again, when she'd been faced with the need to tell this man how much he meant to her, she had resorted to some other way of getting the message across – sex, usually.

Perhaps, by asking for neuro-pressure, he had been essentially settling for that. Neuro-pressure for them usually led to sex.

But she didn't want to have sex. She was too angry to have sex. She was too sad to have sex. Sex was how normal people got pregnant and had babies that they gave birth to and raised. For her and Trip, sex would only ever be a pleasant exercise in physical fitness and mutual affection, and while she considered herself fortunate to get to experience this with this man she loved far more often and more pleasantly than most Vulcan women did (or so she assumed), there was also a terrible futility about it.

Trip twisted around again. She'd let her hands still yet again. "T'Pol," he said, "Maybe we should just try to sleep. Do you think we could just sleep? I think we're both too tired for this. I know I am."

He was so sad. She was failing him.

"I love you," she said. "I have always loved you."

He smiled and raised a hand to her cheek. "I know. But thank you for saying it. Let's just try to get some sleep, okay?"

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	32. Terra Prime Part IV

**DISCLAIMERS, ETC.** in Part I.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well, that last part was your little break of TnT fluffiness before we get back into some angst and conflict, mostly because at the end of "Terra Prime" Trip struck me as mourning for much more than just Elizabeth. (Fear not. I have every intention of getting us to a happy ending eventually.)

If you are puzzled by references Trip makes to marrying his wife and Archer makes to "open comm. mistakes" they refer to events in my 'missing episode' "Darkness Intruding."

I very much appreciate your reviews, and I actually got mathematically curious about them in this month's stats. Did you know that the 18 of you who have reviewed so far this month (often multiple times) represent less than 2% of the individual visitors to this story? But what a difference you make to me (or to any writer you review). So thank you again! (And if you log in, I can make that thank you more personal.)

* * *

When Trip woke up, he rolled over to find T'Pol seated in meditation in front of a flickering candle.

Her eyes opened and met his. "I don't wish to leave _Enterprise,_" she said.

"And good morning to you, too," he said, and rolled back onto his back to stare at the bulkhead above. He knew they needed to have this conversation, but did she have to stake out her position quite so definitively before he'd even had a cup of coffee? "Why not?"

"This is the most congenial home available for a Vulcan-Human couple at this time. Vulcan would not be comfortable for you. Earth has Terra Prime."

He sat up, running his hands through his hair. His tongue felt fuzzy: good old morning-after whisky mouth. "Terra Prime consists of one evil nutcase who's in custody, and a few maladjusted followers, mostly also in custody."

"Paxton's operations may extend much further than we know. Terra Prime has a dues-paying membership of over 726,000 Earth citizens."

"Where'd you get that figure?"

"It was part of the dossier Starfleet Intelligence shared with us. Did you not read it?"

"Not all of it." At the time, he'd been far more interested in just how they'd managed to have a baby he didn't know about. "Excuse me a moment." He got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He hadn't yet had the nerve to risk offending her Vulcan sensibilities by peeing with the door open, and today just didn't seem like a great time to start. He splashed water on his face and dried it, then stared in the mirror. Though he'd managed to stash an extra tooth cleaning tool here, he'd need to go to his own quarters if he wanted to shave.

Like many other inconveniences of carrying on a covert relationship, it was getting old.

Of course, did he even _want_ to shave today? Perhaps looking as if he didn't give a rat's ass would give them a stronger bargaining position against Starfleet.

However, the trick to strong bargaining was being willing to walk away. And T'Pol wasn't.

When he came out again, he said, "You know, I'm sure most of those Terra Prime members are having serious second thoughts about it by now."

"I'm not just concerned about Terra Prime. When we returned from the Expanse, I experienced a hostile reception from a number of Humans in the environs of Starfleet Command," she said. "Dr. Phlox did as well. There have been numerous documented instances of anti-alien violence and harassment."

"The Xindi attack would have traumatized _any _population." Trip put his hands on his hips, staking out his own position, though he was uncomfortably conscious that standing there in his dirty underwear probably didn't lend him much authority. "We can't stay on _Enterprise_ forever."

"Obviously not. However, we could stay another year or two. Perhaps the political situation on Earth will have calmed by then."

"And what if they tell us we can only stay on _Enterprise_ if we end our relationship?"

She looked taken aback. "That would require that they have no concept of a Vulcan mating bond."

"They don't," he said. "Neither did we, before it happened – remember?" He sighed, and pulled on his uniform. "I need some coffee. Do you want anything?"

"A cup of mint tea would be agreeable."

"Mint tea, coming right up."

x x x

Trip had hoped to pop into the mess hall and out again without having to engage in any conversation, but it was not to be. Even though it was quite early and also well before the next shift change, he found the captain sitting at a mess table, working on a PADD.

"You staked out the beverage dispenser," Trip said.

"And it worked," Jon said. "Got a minute?"

"A _minute,_" Trip said irritably. He held off on the tea, though he still got himself some coffee. He followed Jon into the captain's mess.

"So what are my chances of keeping my first and second officers?" Jon asked.

Trip sighed. "She wants to stay, so I'd say your chances are pretty good – unless Starfleet is totally inflexible about us being together, in which case I think even she will realize we have to go."

"And what do _you_ want?"

"Personally? I just want to be able to marry my wife and sleep in the same bed as her without sneaking around."

"You could always claim your prerogatives as a Vulcan bond mate and _make_ her leave."

Was he joking or serious? "If it comes right down to it, I suppose I could. I think that would be the nuclear option, though."

Jon's smile was pained. "If Starfleet is willing to be somewhat flexible, would you be willing to continue keeping everything under the radar?"

Trip sighed. "Just how far under?"

"Pretty much the same as you've been doing up to now … hopefully this time with no open comm. mistakes."

In other words, what Trip wanted was never going to happen. "Any chance that could relax a little once we're out of the Solar system?"

Jon said, "Not really. I might be extremely motivated to try to give you both fairly regular breaks from the shipboard routine, however."

Trip gulped coffee. Jon could offer breaks, but actually delivering them was another matter. They both knew that the mission would always take priority. "Suppose we wanted Phlox to start working on helping us have a healthy baby? With the understanding that we're not going to actually have one for a year or two?" Maybe they wouldn't have to put off _everything._

"Trip, you know as well as I do that what goes on between a doctor and his patients is strictly confidential." Jon smiled a little sadly. "As your friend, of course, I could only wish you well."

"Thanks," Trip said softly.

Jon grimaced and said, "You two are actually up for that right now?"

"Right now? No, probably not. But eventually, I sure hope so."

"I'll talk to Gardner. Maybe we can just focus on Paxton today. I have a feeling the less said about other matters, the better."

Trip nodded. This was true, at least partly because he didn't entirely trust himself not to erupt if they pushed the wrong buttons. "I promised T'Pol some tea," he said.

"See you at 0900," Jon said. "Conference room. Sorry to put you back in there so soon, but it was the only space we had."

"I know," Trip said.

Life went on.

x x x

Around the table with him and T'Pol and Jon and Phlox sat Gardner, an aide, two investigators from Starfleet Intelligence, and Ambassador Soval, whose arrival had appeared to surprise just about everyone but the captain. The questioning focused mostly on their interactions with Paxton and his minions as well as their suspicions about the doctor's death.

Elizabeth was discussed quickly, mostly to confirm Phlox's identification and verify that no one had known about her before Susan Khouri's appearance at the conference.

When one of the intelligence officers attempted to delve into the status of Trip and T'Pol's relationship, Gardner intervened. "Captain Archer and I are satisfied that these two valued officers have become the unlucky objects of rumor and innuendo, despite having generally conducted themselves professionally. I'd like to leave it at that for now."

The two investigators looked at each other in obvious consternation. "But, Admiral…" one of them started to protest, only to be interrupted by Soval.

"It may also interest you to know that, if only by virtue of having had a child together, Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol are now considered married on Vulcan. Given the delicacy of relations between our two planets at this time, I would suggest Starfleet do as little as possible that could be interpreted as a failure to respect Vulcan tradition."

Trip stared at him. What was he playing at? Even T'Pol had raised a curious eyebrow.

Admiral Gardner looked entirely nonplussed. "Just what are you suggesting, Ambassador? You know quite well that we can't accept openly involved couples in the same chain of command. Whether these two happen to be exceptional officers who can handle that situation or not, it just opens us up to too many problems. So even if they wanted to live together as a married couple, they couldn't do so aboard one of our ships – not until our policies change."

"Obviously, some discretion is called for due to your own regulations," Soval said. "And it is fortunate that Vulcans do not obsess in the media about the details of personal relationships in the same way Humans do. But T'Pol is a figure of some renown on Vulcan. If you were to remove her from her post because of what all of Vulcan would now consider her de facto marriage to Commander Tucker, it might contribute to some cooling of our alliance."

"No one is suggesting removing either of these officers from their posts," Gardner growled. "We are simply reiterating longstanding policy that two officers in the same chain of command should not engage in a personal relationship that might affect the mission or ship's discipline. It is our implicit understanding that Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol, whatever that status on Vulcan might be, will not be openly flouting regulations." He glared a bit at each of them.

"And I am stating," Soval said smoothly, "That additional flexibility must be applied in this case. Vulcan mates occasionally require access to each other. All Vulcans know that it _can_, in fact, become a matter of life and death."

The aide and the two intelligence officers stared at him, then looked over at Trip, who just shrugged. He had no idea what Soval was talking about, though he had a vague idea that it might work in their favor. He looked questioningly at T'Pol, but she was staring rather intently at the table.

Something about this was making her very uncomfortable. But then, presumably being so openly discussed in public as "mates" could do it. It wasn't exactly making him comfortable either.

Gardner scowled. "Ambassador, while I appreciate your concern, I believe you are making an unnecessary point. I trust Captain Archer to understand what is required in this matter and manage the issue while maintaining appropriate discipline and decorum. Let's move on."

Soval sat back, arms folded, while the two intelligence officers gave each other disgusted looks. They'd just been bulldozed over by an admiral. It occurred to Trip that, between Soval's odd demand and the clear granting of latitude to Jon, he and T'Pol could potentially get away with quite a bit here.

So why did he feel so let down?

Was it possible he'd hoped this would flare up into an open dispute, one that would allow him to stake his claim and walk out as a matter of principle? She would have had to follow him out; he was fairly certain of that much.

Clearly, it wasn't going to happen now unless he intentionally stirred things up just as they'd settled.

He eyed T'Pol, who spared him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the table. This was what she said she wanted – to stay on _Enterprise_, even with all the continuing subterfuge that it would entail.

Well, if that was what it took…

After the Expanse, he supposed they'd all learned how to live in the grey areas if they had to.

x x x

"What the hell was Soval going on about when he said 'a matter of life and death'?" he asked her, later.

He had gone to collect her to go down to the conference. Although Jon had noted that they were still entitled to bereavement leave, it was fairly clear that he really wanted his entire senior staff to be at the ceremony that would mark the resumption of discussions. So this would be their first chance since Elizabeth had died to pretend they were simply professional colleagues.

"Vulcans don't discuss such matters with outworlders," she said. "That was a veiled reference to the _pon farr,_ the Vulcan mating cycle."

"Is _that _what happened to you a couple of years ago, when the captain got kidnapped?" he said.

"Phlox believes that the microbe I was exposed to on the planet somehow triggered the mating cycle. Fortunately, he was able to prevent its full development. An unresolved _pon farr_ can result in death."

_What?_ "Well, I'm glad you're not dead."

"As am I."

"So is that going to happen to you again in … what, another five years?"

"I believe that is unlikely," she said. "It is generally triggered by the male. You already trigger quite regular mating impulses in me, but they do not, fortunately, result in the full madness of _pon farr_."

Yes, that would have made this relationship pretty damned problematic by now. "But if we wanted you to get pregnant?"

She looked at him sharply, then turned away. "I suppose it might be required for ovulation," she said softly. She turned back to him. "Trip, I don't wish to get pregnant."

"Well, not now, obviously," he said. A small voice inside cautioned him not to press this now, but he ignored it. He needed something to look forward to after he had been forced to settle for a dissatisfying status quo by her lack of willingness to leave _Enterprise_. "But someday. We could at least get Phlox to start working on it."

"I am not willing to lose another child," she said. "It is too painful. And, in our case, all too likely."

Trip felt his stomach clench. How could she say that with such finality? "Are you forgetting Lorian?"

"Lorian's survival was only achieved after a great number of failures. And Lorian himself had apparently not married or reproduced. Perhaps that was not even possible for him."

"So?"

"In our timeline it would arguably be quite irresponsible to breed children who will have no counterparts in the greater population when _they _grow up and wish to mate."

She hadn't mentioned that before. Why did it suddenly matter now? "You don't know that. Maybe they could simply do the same thing we'd have to do … get help."

She just looked at him.

"So… what, that's it?" Trip said, flabbergasted. "End of discussion? I don't get any say in this at all?"

"Perhaps we could explore adoption at some point."

He looked at her in stunned disbelief. She'd said she _loved_ him. How could she just placidly rule out virtually everything he'd ever dreamed of? How could she deny _herself_ the possibility of raising their own child someday?

Throbbing in fury and renewed grief, he turned and walked out the door.

Now he'd not only lost little Elizabeth, but all her brothers and sisters … and perhaps some cherished illusions about their relationship as well.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	33. Terra Prime Conclusion

**Disclaimers, etc. **in Part I.

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took me awhile. The long weekend gave me an opportunity to throw on some headphones, listen to funky free sampler meditation music from Amazon, and get back to our heroes. (Happy Labor Day, fellow laborers.)

After this we will move onto "These Are the Voyages…" and the end of this series. Since I am being friendly to canon, the setting will be the same TNG timeline that offended most of us the first time around. But hang in there. I suspect you'll enjoy this one a little more.

After that I may do an alternative finale episode, but that wouldn't go up for awhile, and I'm not entirely certain I'll get to it. In any case, it won't be part of this series, so you might want an author alert if you want to be notified about it.

And as always, thank you, reviewers. You have been very kind!

* * *

T'Pol stood next to her bond mate as Jonathan Archer spoke of how he had learned that the ties that bound them each to the other could reveal even more "profound discoveries" than exploring the stars could.

Certainly at that moment, her bond mate was a far deeper mystery to her than any stars. At least _they _generally behaved according to familiar physical laws. Trip, on the other hand, had startled her when he'd turned on his heel and left her quarters, radiating outrage and grief as strong as any she had felt from him over Elizabeth's loss in the first place.

She'd simply followed him. He had come there to escort her, after all. Thankfully, when she stepped into the turbo-lift with him, he didn't object. Neither, however, did he look at her.

Was having a child together truly that important to him? He had mentioned his desire to have a family before – but his list at the time had also included items such as a "picket fence" – and even, eventually, a dog – that he later revealed had not been meant seriously.

Certainly, if having biological children of his own was a major priority, choosing someone from a different species as a mate had not been the wisest move.

But then again, perhaps Trip did not feel he'd chosen her so much as she had made that choice for him. If so, losing any future chance at fatherhood might indeed seem like an additional offense, especially so soon after losing Elizabeth.

She waited for him to go into the shuttle first, as was his right as her mate. This also allowed her to choose the seat next to him rather than risk his choice of one more distant. He did not object to her presence, but he sat in relative silence, only briefly responding to polite inquiries from Mayweather and the two MACOs who were aboard (Archer, Reed and Sato were already on the planet).

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Phlox asked them.

Trip shrugged. "It's for a good cause."

"Indeed," she said.

Trip grimaced and turned to monitor a nearby panel that did not, as far as T'Pol could see, require monitoring. Phlox sat across from them and regarded them both silently.

T'Pol closed her eyes and attempted to imagine a meditation flame in front of her. Anxiety about just where she stood in relation to her bond mate was an additional burden she didn't welcome. It would even be somewhat tempting to resent Trip for adding to her discomfort at this time, but she reminded herself that he couldn't help expressing his emotions. He was Human. This was normal for him.

And she was Vulcan. Detachment and logic were what she needed to survive this.

x x x

"Are you coming with us?" she asked him later, after the ceremony.

"I'll go up on the second shuttle with the captain," Trip said, looking past her to where Jon was talking to Samuels. "I'm sure Starfleet would prefer that, anyway."

"Trip…"

"We'll talk later," he said brusquely. "Not here."

x x x

She returned to her quarters and sat on her bunk and wondered if she and Trip had entered another period of estrangement, and, if so, whether it was permanent or temporary.

He had not wanted to stay on _Enterprise_ if it meant keeping their relationship covert, but had agreed to at her request. Was it perhaps unreasonable for her to unilaterally declare that she did not want to attempt to have another child? Was she being as unfair as he clearly felt she was?

It was true that Elizabeth had been no more her child than his. She had not grown Elizabeth in her own womb, had not carried her for a period of months, had not formed her tiny skeleton from her own bones. She had been allowed a few more hours of physical contact, and she had experienced a stronger psychic bond, but Trip had obviously felt just as passionately parental about this child as she had. She was not more entitled to the pain of this loss than he was.

But perhaps Human feeling, so much less controlled, was also shallower and more transient – perhaps, living shorter lives, they healed faster and looked forward sooner. Perhaps, as a Human, he could not truly imagine the depth of her despair.

Of course, that kind of thinking was typical of the casual Vulcan arrogance she despised in so many of her people. And it also was not true. Had she not felt Trip's profound grief and guilt over his sister under her fingertips for all those months? Wouldn't she feel it again, along with this new grief and guilt, if she dared to reach out for it now?

Surak would tell her to manage her own emotions rather than focusing on Trip's.

He would also tell her to cast out fear.

Of course, Surak and Trip were both men ... like her father, the source of her own first true experience of grief.

Without quite thinking about it, she stripped out of her cat suit and dressed herself in formal robes. She would do as she had seen her mother do all those years ago when her father died. She would meditate for as long as it took to manage her feelings.

There was nothing else she _could _do.

x x x

Trip was standing in a numbed daze, waiting for Jon to be done schmoozing delegates, when Soval greeted him and said, "The delegates have asked me to inquire after your daughter's memorial service, if you are planning one. They would like to attend. As would I."

Trip blinked and roused himself to the necessity of conversation. "As far as I know, Phlox still requires Elizabeth's body for the autopsy." He looked vaguely about the room. Maybe he could sic Hoshi onto Soval and they could work out some kind of memorial service between them that would shut people the hell up about it already.

"I should perhaps also apologize for Doctor Fer'at's somewhat impolitic comments yesterday," Soval said. "He wished to determine whether T'Pol was likely to be a danger to herself or others. Vulcan mothers are sometimes known to lose emotional control rather violently after the loss of a child. However, he was satisfied that she is coping appropriately."

Trip frowned. Yes, of course she was. She had already determined exactly how to prevent any such loss from ever occurring again. "What about Vulcan fathers?"

Soval regarded him for a moment. "It is not unheard of for Vulcan fathers in such a situation to become irrational as well. The loss of a child is uniquely challenging for most sentient beings."

Trip thought of his own father's collapse into deep depression over Lizzie. Of course, his father had withstood earlier losses more successfully.

Uncomfortably – for he certainly preferred to feel put upon – he reflected that perhaps T'Pol's fear of coping with the loss of another child was more reasonable than it had first seemed.

x x x

T'Pol sat in her robe on the edge of her bunk and fingered the IDIC she had taken from her child's casket. She had attempted to meditate and she had had some success in tamping down some of the rage, some of the resentment, some of the raving fury.

But she hadn't made any progress at all with her fear.

It would perhaps be easier once she knew whether she was alone in the universe now.

_Infinite diversity in infinite combination._ Had her mother spared any thought to her daughter's enduring love for a Human when she'd chosen this symbol for her covert message?

Probably not. Her mother had held out hope until the end that T'Pol would reconcile herself to Koss and live a more or less normal Vulcan life.

Yet her mother _had _valued the concept of the IDIC. She had respected Trip, and she had valued Captain Archer's life as T'Pau never would.

_Infinite diversity in infinite combination. _Could there be anything more infinitely diverse than the combination of genes that had resulted in their daughter?

Or, in another timeline, in Lorian?

The door chimed and she knew it was him, and that he was waiting for her to answer. It grieved her. Why did he not just come in, as was his right?

She said "Come in" and heard what he had to say about the delegates wanting to be at her service. Then he said there was more. She hadn't seen him quite this sorrowful before, not even about his sister, and she just sat there, frozen in apprehension. Was he now mourning their relationship as well as their daughter?

He sat down next to her and she steeled herself for whatever was coming, but he just told her about Phlox's findings, which didn't surprise her – logically, if Lorian had made it to adulthood, it had to be possible. He said, "So if a Vulcan and a Human ever decided to have a child, it'd probably be okay. And that's sort of comforting" with the sorrow of a man who had accepted that that he wasn't going to have that experience himself.

She offered her hand to him because he was in pain and she grieved with him, however things might stand between them.

He held her hand in his for awhile, breathing heavily and getting himself under control, and she waited. Perhaps he was steeling himself to tell her his decision, but instead he just sighed and said, "Why are you wearing robes?"

"I believe I hoped it might help me cope with my emotions."

"Did it?"

"No."

He snorted softly. "Anything _I_ can do?"

She lifted her eyes to him. He hadn't dropped her hand. She looked down at where they were linked, and found her courage. "Are we…?" But just as abruptly, her courage failed. What if he was just being kind? What if she said the wrong thing? What if she drove him away from her door again?

"Are we what?" he said, sounding just a little alarmed. "Are _we_ okay? Is that what you're asking?"

"Yes."

"I thought once we were bond mates that was kind of a moot point," he said, a little roughly. "You heard Soval. Elizabeth makes it even more official."

"You're Human," she said. "You can choose to leave a relationship that no longer satisfies you." She leaned forward, curling over herself protectively.

But he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "T'Pol, I may get mad, and I may decide that certain things about this relationship aren't exactly fair, but leaving you just isn't an option, so please stop expecting it every time we hit a bump in the road. I don't think I could ever leave you even if I wanted to. I already tried it once, in case you've forgotten, and that was a total bust."

"Then you stay because you are trapped," she said, conscious that she was somewhat perversely focusing on the negative; he _had_ just said he wasn't leaving her.

"No, I stay because I love you," he said. "Even if that means that my heart is yours to stomp on." He shook his head a little. "And once in awhile, you know, I'm probably gonna stomp right back. And maybe there are also times when I won't just take no for an answer. And vice versa. I'm guessing it all just goes with the territory."

She noted that he hadn't mentioned his prerogatives as her bond mate. She supposed she should be thankful that he was apparently reserving those for teasing her about dogs.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I am ... greatly relieved. However, I believe it will be some time before I am 'all right' again."

He sighed. "I know. Me too. And someday I'm probably going to try to get you to change your mind about having a child," he said, and pulled her onto his lap, which allowed her to curl up against him under his sling and contentedly inhale his scent. "But not now. We'll give it some time."

"Thank you."

"We'll get through this," he said, rubbing her back with his good hand. "I think we'll get through anything, as long as we have each other." He tightened his grip on her. "And don't you forget it."

And she never did.

THE END


	34. These Are the Voyages Part 1

**Disclaimer:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount.

**Spoilers:** This may not make much sense unless you've seen the somewhat notorious series finale "These Are the Voyages," which was written by _Enterprise_ creators Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

**Author's Note:** In hindsight, the last chapter wrapped up the 'real' missing scenes series, just as "Terra Prime" was the true finale of _Enterprise_. This new set of 'missing scenes' (more a sequel, really) plays off the official finale episode, which was a departure from all previous episodes because it was actually set up as a series of missing scenes from the episode "Pegasus" of _Star Trek:_ _The Next Generation_.

It is my personal belief that this was done to allow the show to be 'reset' extremely easily, as well as to bid fond farewell to a franchise that had been in production on the Paramount lot for many years. If the unfortunate effect was to slight _Enterprise_ and its fans(while also infuriating Trip's fans, Trip and T'Pol shippers, Shran's fans, etc) … well, that doesn't mean we can't find a canon-friendly way to have some fun with it. So, if you'd like, you can think of this as a valentine to fanfic readers.

Many thanks as always, reviewers. Even if you are allergic to TATV, I think you may enjoy this one, which will have multiple parts. However, I should probably note that the holo-fic Beverly begins to share with Deanna gets rather silly indeed. If you're not a fan of low comedy, you might be happier ending the missing scene series with this chapter.

* * *

After the captain reported on the disposition of Admiral Prescott and revealed Will's own role in that, Beverly said, "Now I know why you look like a man who's had the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders."

Will smiled. It was true, he actually did feel lighter. "I sure don't mind seeing the back of the Admiral."

From the other end of the conference room table, Geordi said, "That must have been a difficult decision."

"Excruciating," Will said. "It was so bad I even asked the ship's counselor for help. Not that she really gave me any!" He grinned teasingly at Deanna, who opened her mouth in feigned outrage.

"_Excuse me!_ Didn't you say you found the NX-01 program useful?"

Picard turned a baleful eye on her. "The _NX-01_ program on the holodeck? Please tell me you're not serious."

Beverly muttered, "Oh, here we go."

Deanna said, "Why not? Starfleet recommends it as a resource for officers facing a difficult command choice."

"I thought it was pretty interesting," Will said. "Sometimes it's easy to forget those guys had to agonize over their decisions, too."

Picard scowled. "I hope you realize that program bears only the most glancing relationship to the truth."

Beverly smiled thinly. "And you really don't want to try to enjoy a holo-program with Jean-Luc Picard when he thinks it 'bears only the most glancing relationship to truth'."

"I wasn't there to _enjoy_ it," Will protested. "Anyway, what was so wrong about it? It seemed pretty close to everything I've ever heard about the NX-01."

"Is history a matter of what people have _heard,_ or is it a matter of what _actually happened?"_ Picard snapped. "I suppose you also believe the _Mary Rose_ sank on her maiden voyage!"

Will didn't happen to believe _anything _about the _Mary Rose_, as it happened – and his colleagues all looked as blank as him. Too bad Data was on the bridge.

Or, perhaps, thank goodness Data was on the bridge.

Apparently having decided to ignore their sad lack of knowledge of said _Mary Rose_, Picard said, "You know, after I experienced that travesty on the holo-deck, I wondered how they could get it so wrong, so I did some checking. Apparently _this _absurd version of events started with a very brief, inaccurate version of the story in a popular children's book some twenty years ago. Then came a popular historical drama that expanded on that inaccurate version. And then there was a novel about the NX-01 in which their _chef,_ of all people, was made the main character. And apparently _all _ofthat nonsense then served as the basis for this ridiculous holo-program."

Will glanced at Deanna. Honestly, the captain could be such a tight-ass sometimes. "Weren't they working from actual ship recordings? What's so _wrong_ about it?"

"You'd be better off asking what it got _right_," Picard said. "For one, _Captain_ Charles Tucker III was in charge of Starfleet's warp development program from the middle of the Romulan War until his retirement. He wasn't even _aboard _the NX-01 in 2161."

Riker looked over at Geordi, who grinned. "He's right. Tucker looms large in the history of warp drive."

Deanna said, "What about his relationship with T'Pol? I heard _that_ was real, at least for awhile."

Picard frowned. "There's no evidence they were ever linked by anything other than a short-lived hybrid child an isolationist cloned when he was trying to stir up trouble."

Beverly leaned over to Troi and said, "The captain has no sense of romance. I can clue you into some rather nice patches to that program, if you'd like a happier ending."

"A patch on rubbish is still rubbish," Picard growled.

"You can't be certain those two weren't actually together," Beverly countered. "There were _many _rumors about it at the time. They appear together repeatedly in various records of that era. She was the principal mourner at his funeral. They lived in adjacent apartments! And only after he died did she go back to Vulcan."

Picard sat back in his chair and folded his arms. Will began to suspect this was a rehash of an old argument, especially when the captain got a rather merry glint in his eye. "Some historians suggest she actually had a romantic relationship with Captain Archer."

"And some historians are _idiots_," Beverly said, and leaned back in her chair, folding her own arms and glaring at him.

Picard grinned and turned to Deanna. "What we know for _certain_ is that T'Pol wasn't aboard the NX-01 in 2161 either. For that matter, Malcolm Reed had command of his own vessel by then – one that had obtained major victories in the Romulan War. Hoshi Sato was already back at Starfleet Command working on what would eventually become the universal translator. And Shran had risen quite high in the Andorian Imperial Guard. It's absolutely ridiculous to believe that a man of his stature faked his death to hide out from criminals over a _jewel_."

"Yes, don't ever try to show that program to an Andorian," Beverly said. "Or a jeweler."

"So _none _of it happened?" Will said, beginning to get quite annoyed. "_Nobody _sacrificed himself to save the captain and the birth of the Federation?"

Picard said, "There _was _a very bad explosion aboard the NX-01 in 2161. _That's _why she was decommissioned after only ten years of service. But it was from a Romulan mine left over from the war. Twelve crewmen lost their lives, and there were a number of serious injuries. Earth's government decided to cover up the cause – feelings were running high and peace with the Romulans had just been achieved."

Troi said, "And that cover up led to this … confusion?"

Beverly said, "It probably didn't help, but I think it's fairly obvious that the team that put this one together simply chose drama over historical fact at every turn, which I might add…" – she glared at Picard – "…is perfectly reasonable if you're creating a holodeck program that never claims to be documentary. Take Jonathan Archer's speech. It's well-documented that he got help from a team of speechwriters back on Earth. It took weeks, and there's a whole set of interim drafts you can look at anytime you want. _And_ it was finished well in advance of the signing ceremony. It had to be – Earth's government had to approve it, and they wanted to give the founding planets' delegations a chance to review it beforehand, too. But that would have been rather dull to watch, wouldn't it?"

Picard said, "And this nonsense about their chef! They didn't have replicators in those days, you know, so they had to depend on that man for all their meals … and he knew it. According to everything I've ever read, he was a tin pot dictator. _Everyone_ did their best to stay on his good side. Even Archer admitted that, when it came to Chef, he always picked his battles."

Deanna eyes narrowed. "How is it that you two know so much about this?"

Beverly blushed. "I've always been fascinated by the rumors about Tucker and T'Pol."

"I simply detest bad history," Picard said.

"Well, count me in on that," Riker said. "I feel like I've been _had,_ big-time."

x x x

Deanna looked up and down the corridor. It was empty. Beverly _had_ said that the "romance mode" of NX-01 was worth a look.

"Computer, start program NX-01. Romance mode."

"This program offers 22 romantic character combinations and five romantic sub-genres. Please choose the default setting or specify your preferences."

"How can there be _22_ romantic character combinations?"

"Character combinations available include Tucker/T'Pol, Archer/T'Pol, Reed/Sato, Archer/Sato, Mayweather/Sato, Tucker/Sato, Archer/Tucker, Archer/Reed, Reed/Tucker, T'Pol/Sato, Phlox/Sato, Archer/Tucker/T'Pol..."

"Computer, stop!" This was mind-boggling. Who had had the time to come _up_ with all this? "And the romantic sub-genres?"

"Available romantic sub-genres include traditional romance, tragic romance, comedic romance, romantic angst, and erotic romance."

_Erotic romance?_ She was willing to bet that one was popular, but she would be too nervous that someone might walk in on her at an embarrassing moment. "What is the _default _romance setting?"

"Tucker/T'Pol tragic romance."

"Oh." She sighed. How was that any different from the real story, or at least what she had always thought was the real story? Not to mention, she just wasn't in the mood for tragedy. Indeed, sometimes she wondered why anyone ever was.

Also, the simple fact was that she found Jonathan Archer more attractive than Charles Tucker. But obviously a _captain_ couldn't have a ship-board romance that didn't raise all sorts of red flags about his judgment and ethics…

Maybe she'd better ask Beverly for a more specific recommendation. Or maybe she could talk Beverly into doing the program with her. Beverly could indulge her Tucker/T'Pol fascination while Deanna watched the captain interact with … whom?

Hmm. Perhaps that explained all those romantic character combinations.

x x x

"Enter when ready," the computer said, and opened up onto a pristine meadow of waving purple flowers.

"This is a good one," Beverly said, leading the way in. "A little romance, some suspense, some adventure … I think you'll enjoy it."

"How many of these patches have you seen?" Deanna asked.

"Well, I usually stick to Tucker and T'Pol stories. But there are plenty more than that. People can upload their own patches, you know. And they do, all the time. You just have to know what to ask for. They're listed in the holodeck database."

Deanna had never even heard of such a thing. "But why?"

Beverly smiled. "Jean-Luc may be content to just call the thing rubbish, but there are people who enjoy 'fixing' it. Or just playing with it. Don't tell anyone, but I've written a couple of these myself."

"Is this one yours?" She'd better be careful about what she said.

"Oh, no, no," Beverly said. "But this is one of the ones that inspired me. This author is much better at specifying the action than I am. It's hard work writing a good holo-program. The computer gives you the sets and the people, but you have to specify exactly what they do. A lot of patches tend to come out a bit flat – people just stand around talking to each other like robots and nothing ever happens. Or you barely recognize them because suddenly they're weeping or slobbering over someone or inexplicably needing to get dressed in a ball gown. Of course, if you ask me, in the original program they were pretty badly out of character, too."

Deanna frowned. "Do you _really_ think it's as far off as the captain says? I thought they had real ship's recordings to work from."

"I've seen some of those source recordings, and they just don't match what I see in that default program. Yes, the people look pretty much the same, but it's just … different. For one thing, it's a lot slower and duller in real life. You realize that boredom was probably their biggest challenge at those old warp speeds. And people weren't so gorgeously made up. And finally, they just didn't act like they do in the program. Can you really believe that Archer would have _hugged _a Vulcan? Or that T'Pol would have squeezed Shran's shoulder?"

"I hadn't noticed, actually," Deanna said weakly.

Beverly sighed. "Sorry. I'm such a fanatic, I forget that other people don't obsess over it like I do. Look, here comes the shuttle pod!"

The pod landed, and out spilled nearly the entire command crew: Archer, Tucker, T'Pol, Reed, Sato, Mayweather, and a dog. "What kind of away team protocol is this?" Deanna said. "Have they left _any_ command officers on board?"

"Call it dramatic license," Beverly said. "There's the famous Porthos."

"Now _that _would be an interesting character to play."

"I actually tried it once just to see what it was like. But I couldn't even bring myself to bark at the scary aliens."

"The who?" Deanna said.

Porthos started barking furiously as a vast circle of reptilian aliens with large expanding crests around their heads rose up out of the field of flowers and pointed their weapons at the NX-01 crew.

"Maybe they're just being excessively cautious?" they could hear Commander Tucker suggest, even as the NX-01 crew formed a tight circle, their own weapons raised.

"This isn't exactly going as planned," Captain Archer said. "Hoshi?"

The communications officer raised her voice, speaking a bit haltingly in a strange tongue.

One of the aliens said something back. It didn't sound very friendly.

"Why isn't the universal translator working?" Deanna whispered. They were in objective mode, but she couldn't help not wanting the guys with the big guns to notice her.

"Their translators were primitive compared to ours," Beverly said. "It took them awhile to figure new languages out."

"But we have a good one and this is _our_ holodeck."

"It's more fun this way."

Suddenly, the alien who had spoken barked a command, and all of the aliens fired at once on the little group, which slumped to the ground. Even the little dog was knocked out.

"The end," Deanna said.

"Very funny," Beverly said. "We're just getting started."

TO BE CONTINUED


	35. These Are the Voyages Part II

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Part 1

**Author's Note:** Now that we've de-fanged the valentine, we need to continue our "patch" program, which I assure you is broad comedy without a speck of true angst on the horizon (animal lovers may take umbrage at this chapter, but I can only assure you that's it not as bad as it looks).

Thank you, reviewers; you're very kind!

_Editorial note post publication: Younger Trekkies may not realize that Archer is channeling an infamous Kirk moment in a scene here, which is my only excuse for what I did to poor Porthos. Of course, if I have to explain a joke it's undoubtedly better not to include it. C'est la vie, as they say on Earth. Anyway, I do attempt to redeem myself later.)_

_Second editorial note: Thanks to panyasan for a correction on the Japanese.  
_

* * *

The holodeck blacked out for a moment, and when the lights came back on the purple field was gone and they were in a clear, brightly-lit chamber surrounded on all sides by utter darkness. The _Enterprise_ crewmen – minus T'Pol and Porthos – were slowly regaining consciousness on the shining white floor.

And they were dressed in nothing but their underwear.

"Is _that_ why we call them Starfleet blues?" Deanna said. Given that one could have one's underwear replicated in _any _color, she'd always found that puzzling.

"Maybe," Beverly said.

"And if aliens are going to bother to take their uniforms, why not take _all_ of their clothing?"

"Because then this would have to be labeled erotic romance, and a lot of people would never even look at it."

"Really? I figured _more_ people would look at it."

Beverly snorted.

Mayweather, Tucker and Archer had gotten to their feet.

"What the…?" Mayweather said.

"Where's Porthos?" Archer said.

"Where's _T'Pol_?" Tucker said.

Reed rolled over, groaning. He put a hand out to shake Sato. "Hoshi?"

"_Wakanai_," she muttered, then sat up, blinking. "They shot us!"

"Yes," the captain said grimly. He pounded on the clear barrier in front of him, which reverberated dully. "Hey! Mendrosans! Where's my first officer? Where's my dog? HEY!"

Nothing happened.

Tucker and Reed were already working themselves in opposite directions along each wall and seam in the place, which didn't take very long since they were essentially housed in a clear box without any obvious door and no furniture either, just a single clear pipe that curved up from the floor and provided a steady drip of water into a clear basin, which overflowed into an opaque white drain in the floor. At the other end of that wall there was another, larger drain in the floor. Clearly, there wasn't going to be any privacy of any kind here. Deanna sincerely hoped that the dramatic license Beverly had referred to would preclude the need for any realistic use of the plumbing. The clear walls appeared to extend up past an array of blindingly bright lights.

It was creepy. "This didn't ever really happen to the NX-01 crew, did it?" Deanna said.

"Not as far as I know," Beverly said.

"We're lab rats now, aren't we?" Tucker said, pacing anxiously.

Sato looked forlorn. "Was it something I said?"

"I get the feeling they planned this from the beginning, Hoshi," Archer said, and grimaced at Reed. "You were right, we should have been more cautious."

"Are we certain this isn't just a really, really excessive decon procedure?" Mayweather said.

They all shot him looks, and he shrugged. "Just trying to stay positive."

"Let's see how high these walls go," Archer suggested, and soon the crew was working together to climb. The glaring lights turned out to be shining from the end of long flexible tubes; Tucker simply pushed them out of the way when he reached them by standing on Archer's shoulders. "This is extremely directional lighting," he said. "It's completely dark up when you get past them. I can't see how high up it goes. Malcolm?"

With Mayweather's help, Reed climbed up the two men on the bottom and got on Tucker's shoulders. "More darkness, more wall," he reported. "Hoshi, why don't you come up? It can't go too much higher than this."

The petite young woman climbed and was hoisted up past him. "It's just more of the same," her voice came, somewhat muffled. "And I could really do without these clammy tubes draping all over me."

"Those walls must be pretty damned high," Tucker said.

"Put me on the bottom this time," Mayweather said. "We'll get another man higher."

"Or we could try climbing up the lights," Reed suggested. "They're a bit like ropes. Feel pretty strong, too."

"There's no sign these walls _ever_ end," Sato's voice came from above, and then a grunt as if she was perhaps stretching even higher.

A loud alarm started blaring, and they quickly dismantled their Human ladder.

The clear wall in front of them coalesced into a view screen, revealing the long, scaly face of one of the reptilian aliens. "You are now the property of the Mendrosan Collective. Once we have decided how best to leverage you as a resource, you will receive further instructions. Further attempts to escape will elicit punishment. Cooperation will earn you sustenance and other privileges."

"What happened to the first-contact protocols we agreed upon?" Archer demanded.

"You believed them," the alien sneered.

"And where is my first officer?" Archer said.

Cold reptilian eyes stared back at him - long dark slits in a yellow iris.

"The Vulcan," Tucker said. "The other female who was with us. Where is she?"

The eyes shifted to Tucker. "Her genetic profile does not match yours. There is also no available male component to her species. She is being evaluated for other possible uses."

"Ewww!" Deanna said. "What, are they planning to _breed _them?"

Judging from the looks of distaste on the Enterprise crew, the same thought had just occurred to them – though Tucker's look was less one of distaste than of panic. "But she belongs with us!" he said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Deanna noticed Beverly smile. Oh yes, she was into that relationship, all right.

The Reptilian's thin, membranous eyelids flicked. "The other female clearly evolved in a very different environment than your kind. As far as we can determine, she would not even make acceptable food for our livestock."

Five humans exchanged horrified glances.

"She's very strong," Tucker said frantically. "She's smart. She's _useful._ That's why she belongs with us. We need her."

"You will not require a first officer here," the reptile said.

"She's also our science officer," Sato said. "She understands our biology and can help keep us healthy. However you decide to leverage _us _as resources, she can help ensure our good condition. That is why we need her with us."

"Your species suffers from poor health?" the creature asked, sounding disgusted. "That would materially reduce your usefulness for anything beyond feed stock."

"No, no," Sato said. "We're sturdy enough. But we sometimes have difficulties with childbirth. If you expect good production, we'll need to have our science officer with us."

The four men stared at her in distaste, but the creature said, "We will take it under consideration."

"What about my dog?" Archer said. "The smaller life form that was with us?"

"I'm afraid he is no longer available," the reptilian said, and a crocodilian smile formed across his scaly face. "He was quite delicious."

Archer paled, and Deanna stared at Beverly in outrage. "_Beverly!"_

"What?"

"They ate his dog!"

"Yes," Beverly said, clearly unfazed. "It does raise the stakes, doesn't it?"

"That's rather _dark_, don't you think? And I suppose now they plan to mate _all _these men with poor Ensign Sato? I thought you said this was romantic adventure, not some sort of weird, kinky…"

"Deanna!" Beverly said. "Have a little faith. I wouldn't make you sit through… _that._"

Archer had slumped to the floor. "Mendrosan bastards! You killed my dog!"

"Look, it's just a story, okay?" Beverly said. "In real life Porthos survived to a very respectable old age, in dog terms."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Mayweather walked over to stand in front of Sato and said, "Whatever inspired you to suggest we need a science officer for _childbirth?_"

Reed said, "I trust you're not expecting?"

She glared at him. "We need a reason they can understand for us to require T'Pol. And frankly, if they're planning to engage in a little animal husbandry here, I don't see anyone else in this room who's going to be having any babies. If we can't have Phlox, I want T'Pol."

"Nobody's going to be engaging in 'a little animal husbandry'!" Archer said. "I think you're giving up a little too quickly here, Ensign."

Hoshi said, "Captain, I'm just trying to get T'Pol back."

"And if it works, Hoshi, I'll give you my next meal," Tucker said, "Assuming we ever get one. But I don't particularly feel like waiting around to find out." He shielded his eyes with his hands as he tried to assess the painfully bright lighting tubes hanging over their heads. "I want to climb those lights, Cap'n … see how far up they go."

Archer grimaced. "You heard that alarm. And there's nothing to break a fall here."

"Except us," Reed said. "I'm at least slightly less likely to kill someone just by falling on their heads – I should be the one to go up."

Tucker impatiently turned on his heel and paced to the clear wall and back.

"Trip, getting yourself killed won't help T'Pol," Archer said.

Tucker's eyes filled. Archer grabbed him by the shoulders. "She's good at thinking on her feet. We might be better off with her out _there_."

A portion of the white floor in an unoccupied corner suddenly developed a pattern of red lights in the form of a small square. As they all stared at it, T'Pol materialized inside it.

"You were saying?" Reed said.

"I _love_ you, Hoshi!" Tucker said, which elicited a sharp frown from T'Pol, but it disappeared as Tucker bounded up to her, grinning. At the last moment he apparently realized he was at imminent risk of violating a Vulcan's personal space while in full view of the whole command crew. He held up two forefingers instead. She met his fingers with her own and they stared soulfully at each other.

"Okay, they _are_ kind of cute," Deanna said. "But this is totally unprofessional! You expect me to believe the second and third officers are carrying on an affair and the captain and the entire senior staff just _accept it_?"

"It's a _romance, _Deanna. Besides, it's entirely possible that they did."

"But that's ridiculous."

"Right. Because nobody ever falls in love with anyone they're not supposed to."

Deanna turned looked at her. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"No!"

"Well, I'd say _these _people have much more immediate things to worry about than romance," Deanna said.

"I won't argue with that," Beverly said, just as one of the walls transformed into a view screen again. The same reptilian alien intoned, "We have provided you with your science officer as requested. You may commence mating now."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	36. These Are the Voyages Part III

**Disclaimers, etc.** in Part 1

**Author's Note: **And so we move along with our _holofic_ adventure, though my pace may have to slow down a little after this due to some real life demands ... thanks as always, reviewers.

* * *

They stared back at the alien face, speechless.

"Um … Humans require privacy for mating," Archer suggested. "We also require food … blankets … clothing … not to mention _relationships _… all those things tend to come first for us."

Reptilian eyes stared coldly back at him. "Can your science officer confirm this?"

"All that is generally true, as far as I have observed," T'Pol said.

Its voice turned distinctly more sibilant. "You shall have ample foodstuffs, blankets and articles of clothing after you have assisted us in securing the rest of your crew."

"That we will never do," Archer said.

"Then I suggest you at least mate in order to demonstrate your potential value to us. Otherwise, you shall experience none of the privileges of cooperation," the alien said, and the view screen winked out of sight. At the same time, noticeably cooler air started to stream down from above. Even Deanna felt the chill, although in objective mode environmental conditions in a holo-program were always greatly moderated.

"Great," Sato said, crossing her arms across her chest. "Maybe they think they can get us to start mating just to keep warm."

"I don't get it," Tucker said to Archer. "Obviously, they have transporter technology. These screens – they're pretty advanced. They have warp drive, or we wouldn't have run into their ship and fallen for their invitation. So why do they even _need_ help to capture the rest of the crew?"

"McKenzie must have smelled a trap when we didn't check in," Archer said.

Reed said, "I have no doubt she'd put up a good fight."

Mayweather said, "Maybe they also don't like to have to work hard for their new … resources."

T'Pol said, "The Mendrosan fleet in orbit was rather eclectic. It is possible that this species scavenges technology and personnel from other species more readily than it develops its own. In that case, they may not be particularly well-versed in some of the technology they are employing."

"Well, they sure seem to have gotten air conditioning down," Hoshi said.

"This is punishment for failing to cooperate," Archer said. "Hopefully it's temporary. I doubt they want to kill off their new prizes. We'll just have to share body heat and try to get through it as best we can. "

They eyed each other awkwardly.

"Utilizing the corner of the cell would minimize exposure to cold air," T'Pol said.

"I call T'Pol," Tucker chirped.

"Of course you do," Reed said.

"Vulcans are nice and toasty," Tucker said. "But she's also going to feel the cold faster."

They had all begun to shiver. Archer said, "This is going to satisfy our quota of team building for the year, if it makes you feel any better." He looked at T'Pol. "You're the science officer. Organize us for optimal heat conservation."

Deanna watched, frowning, as T'Pol organized their huddled mass. "This isn't very romantic. Isn't it traditional for the hero and heroine to keep _each other_ warm? Six is a crowd."

"That's true," Beverly said, even as the lights went down and then came up again after what was apparently the passage of some time. Tucker and T'Pol were curled up together, and Reed, Mayweather and Sato had entwined as well. Archer sat at the edge of the huddle, close enough to benefit from the shared warmth. However, unlike the others, he was awake and staring bleakly at their cell.

Deanna said. "Poor Archer. He'll be feeling responsible, won't he?"

"The loneliness of command and all that," Beverly said, with a bit of an edge to her voice. Deanna began to wonder if she really did need to push her friend to talk. Not that Beverly ever would.

Quite suddenly, a square of those red lights appeared on the floor around their huddled mass. Archer didn't have time to open his mouth before Sato and Reed were transported away, the sudden empty space causing Mayweather to fall on Tucker, who groaned and said "Wha...?" T'Pol abruptly sat up.

Archer stared, obviously stricken, at the empty space where his crewmen had been. "They took Hoshi and Malcolm."

There was a long silence.

"I hope it's warmer there," Tucker said.

x x x

The lights dimmed and came up again – this time in a cell that was exactly the same, but contained a pile of blankets, a tray of food, and a very confused Sato and Reed lying on the floor in rather close contact. Waking, they scrambled apart.

The view screen lit up with the usual alien face. "We have provided you with food, blankets, warmth, and as much privacy as can be expected. If you do not mate in a timely manner, you will be returned to the unpleasant conditions you were experiencing before."

It turned clear again.

"Food, Malcolm!" Hoshi said, jumping up and diving for it.

Malcolm grimaced, though he couldn't hide his own interest in the victuals. "You did hear what we're expected to _do_ for it?"

"First things first," she said. "It's _food._" She stretched her arms luxuriantly. "And it's _warm_ here."

x x x

Lights dropped and rose again on the four cold people in the original cell, now bunched together in the corner. Tucker was essentially sitting with T'Pol in his lap, and the two other men were on each side, draping across the two in the middle as best they could. It looked like a really bad modern dance tableau.

"Reptiles hate cold, don't they?" she said.

"They do," Beverly said. "They can't regulate their own body temperature like mammals can. It literally slows them down until they can't move."

"So are these aliens trying to kill them?"

Beverly said, "I have to assume they'd have much faster ways to accomplish that."

Tucker said, "Lizzie and I had gerbils when we were little. They always slept together in a big furry ball."

"I wouldn't mind having some of that fur right now," Mayweather said. "Maybe even a nice little roasted gerbil to snack on."

Tucker grimaced at him. "The thing is … there's no way I would have been able to lock on and transport out someone from a clump of gerbils … or a clump of _people,_ without taking the whole lot of them. Not unless…"

T'Pol lifted her head from where she had tucked it under Tucker's chin.

"A transponder?" Archer said.

They all started feeling for something under their skin, starting with their own necks and each other's. T'Pol found hers first – just under the skin of her wrist. "There," she said, holding it up to Tucker, who felt it, then found his own. "Yep," he said. Archer and Mayweather found theirs as well.

"We've been tagged," Mayweather said, disgusted.

Tucker said, "Maybe _that's_ how they knew when we were trying to escape."

Mayweather said, "Or maybe they simply hear and see everything we do."

"It took them awhile to react, though," Archer said. "I think you might be right, Trip. Maybe there's some sort of alarm system that would be triggered…"

"…when the transponder crosses it," Trip said. "But if there are four transponders in the cell, they might think we're still here. If we remove mine, I might be able to climb out of here without them noticing."

T'Pol said, "This device may not simply be locational. It might be sending information such as body temperature or heart rate."

"So we transfer it to someone else," Archer said.

"How? We don't have any surgical tools," Mayweather said. "Or _any _tools."

Tucker started examining his own wrist more closely. "I think there's actually a dermal patch here… if I can get it up…" He started digging at his own wrist with fingernails and then his teeth. Then he held it up to his face to examine it and was able to lift up a clear patch. He showed the others the edge of a small device poking up through a small amount of pooling blood.

"Ugh," Deanna said. "I guess they don't have to worry about infection in a holo-program."

"Not this one," Beverly said. She had been wincing as she watched as well. "Sickbed confessions of undying love are far too common in these things, if you ask me."

Tucker sighed. "Getting it out is easy. Putting it in someone else…"

T'Pol said, "If a relatively occlusive seal is maintained against one's skin, it would continue to transmit bio-information, assuming it is. Of course, anyone monitoring this is likely to notice eventually that the bio readings are mirroring another's. So there is little point in transferring the transponder unless we plan to move quickly."

Tucker turned to the captain. "I'll climb the lights. See if there's any way to communicate with _Enterprise, _or at least find a way out. Maybe even find Hoshi and Malcolm."

Archer nodded. "I'm going with you."

"Captain, I believe _I_ should go with him," T'Pol said. "My superior hearing provides a significant advantage while navigating hostile territory."

Archer scowled at her, clearly reluctant, but considering her point. He turned to Trip. "Do you want to have an opinion on this?"

Trip frowned skeptically at T'Pol. "Are you sure you have the upper body strength required to do that much climbing?"

"I'm a _Vulca_n," she said acidly.

Trip grimaced apologetically at Archer. "Then with your permission, Cap'n…"

Archer sighed. "Quickly, then."

With a wince, Trip plucked his transponder out and handed it to Mayweather, who quickly stuck it under his arm. T'Pol dug hers out as well and handed it to Archer, who did the same.

Then they all stood and looked up. Obviously, the two men would not be able to help their comrades reach the lights very effectively with transponders jammed under their arms. Archer shook his head in irritated realization and quickly transferred T'Pol's transponder to his mouth. Mayweather made a face and did the same with Trip's. He said, "I hope I don't accidentally swallow this thing."

"Maybe Phlox could send a tape worm in after it," Tucker said, and Archer helped boost him onto Mayweather's shoulders. He reached the lights and began to haul himself up. T'Pol followed. Her bare feet quickly disappeared and only the frantic swinging of the lights indicated that something was going on above them.

The two men settled back down in the corner, shivering.

Silence fell.

Mayweather rubbed his arms.

Archer draped an arm over the younger man's shoulders and pulled him close. "So, Travis … what's new?"

x x x

The holodeck lights dipped again and rose on Sato and Reed's compartment, which they were systematically examining even as they continued to munch the food bars that had been provided.

"I can't even determine whether this is a new compartment or the same one we were in before," Reed complained.

"I think it's new," Sato said. "The surface is spotless in that corner – and we must have left some oily smudges behind where we were huddling."

"Well, it's likely we'll be back to that soon enough," Reed said grimly. He shielded his eyes and tried to look upwards toward the blinding lights. "We could try to make a climb for it."

"They sure seemed to know what we were doing the last time."

Reed blew out a long breath. "Whatever happens, I guess we should be thankful we got a chance to eat and thaw out a little."

Sato folded her arms and looked thoughtful. "How do reptiles mate?"

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe if we knew how they do it … don't they lay eggs? Do they even have … you know…." She gestured vaguely. _"Parts?"_

"Even if I knew the answer to that, I don't think we can safety extrapolate from Earth's snakes and lizards to bipedal sentient reptiles from another planet."

She gave him a sour look and walked away to grab another piece of the food.

Reed said, "I do recall once seeing a rather disturbing video of a bunch of snakes gathered up in a great squirming ball – they were competing to see who would get to do the deed with the female snake in the middle. And I seem to recall the teacher telling us the, erm, _goods _could last for years if necessary –ready whenever the female snake needed them."

"Then maybe they assume we only need to mate once. Because otherwise, you know, it's pretty stupid, throwing two Humans in a cell to mate when you don't even know if she's ovulating."

"Can you be certain you're _not?_"

"I think Phlox and I would both be pretty surprised."

His eyebrows went up. "Birth control?"

"Of course. And you?"

"I don't think so," he said doubtfully. "Unless he throws it in with the allergy hyposprays..."

Sato looked a bit sour, but quickly returned her attention to the matter at hand. "This alien doesn't strike me as terribly knowledgeable on the subject. Maybe we can use that."

Reed's eyebrows rose. "How?"

Sato held up a blanket. "The two of us, under this … a little squirming, a little moaning ... how would they even know whether anything's really going on?"

Reed's face turned red. "I'm fairly certain that if I started squirming around under a blanket with you, _something _would go on, and _that _could get rather embarrassing."

"I'm a big girl, Malcolm. Let's just agree that what happens in alien captivity stays in alien captivity. Maybe once they think we've mated, they'll lighten up and stop freezing the others."

"I wouldn't assume there's the slightest connection," he said, but then he shuffled his feet and tilted his head and looked at her rather shyly. "You really think…?"

Deanna smiled. It seemed to her that Lieutenant Reed was adjusting rather quickly to Ensign Sato's idea. "I thought this was a Trip and T'Pol romance," she said.

Beverly said, "I think this particular author will take romance anywhere she can find it. Besides, Trip and T'Pol are getting to be a bit like an old married couple at this point, but these two..."

"Did _they_ ever get together for real?" Deanna asked.

"There's no record of it, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen."

Ensign Sato wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and walked up to Lieutenant Reed, then opened the blanket wide. "Why don't you come get a little warmer, Lieutenant?"

Reed grinned and went.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	37. These Are the Voyages Part IV

**DISCLAIMERS, ETC.** in Part I

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Real life has been keeping me horribly busy, but why grade papers when you can write another chapter?

Many thanks as always, reviewers. I know I've lost a few of you with the broad comedy here, but I'd like to finish this series on a much lighter note than the actual series did - even if it's just as implausible.

* * *

The lights did their dimming thing again and the scene changed, this time to a surprisingly drab, workaday framework of corridors constructed at a mid-level of what appeared to be a large, echoing building, its distant ceiling shrouded in darkness. Tucker on his knees was helping T'Pol get out from under the suspended grid from which hung the light tubes they had climbed up.

Once she was safely up, he turned his attention to a humming mechanical unit that sat over a portion of the chamber they'd been in.

"Trip?" she said with some concern, after quickly checking out both directions.

"This has got to be what's cooling the air."

"Our priority should be contacting _Enterprise_."

"It probably wouldn't take much to warm the place up."

"Changing any settings might alert the Mendrosans to our escape. Our window of opportunity to take action may be quite small."

"Exactly! And they're freezing down there."

"They will simply freeze again if we are recaptured because of your adjustments, Commander."

He scowled, though Deanna couldn't tell if it was annoyance at being curbed or at being called by his rank. "Yes, Ma'am," he said, with just a touch of sarcasm. He gestured. "Lead on."

T'Pol gave him a look that struck Deanna as pretty plainly irritated for a Vulcan, and headed off down the corridor. They turned, and turned again. Then she stopped dead.

Tucker almost bumped into her. "What is it?"

"We are being approached," T'Pol said. "From both sides."

They quickly sought a doorway or any other place to hide, but the corridor was strikingly bare of escape routes; there wasn't even any way to climb up into the darkness above them. Tucker abruptly pushed T'Pol up against the bare wall of the corridor. "Just follow me," he said, and started kissing her.

Her hands flailed a moment before relaxing and gripping the engineer's back.

"Oh, come on!" Deanna exclaimed. "I don't see how that old romance cliché can possibly work here."

Beverly merely smiled as two aliens, one from each direction, converged on the canoodling pair. "You!" one of them shouted. "What are you doing here?"

Tucker looked up from a rather breathless T'Pol. "Mating, obviously. Like you asked!"

"Why aren't you in your compartment?"

"Our cap'n _told_ you we needed privacy and warmth before we could mate. So we found some, or at least we _thought_ we did. What's the problem? I thought this is what you guys wanted."

The reptilian alien from the view screen walked up and one of the others relayed Tucker's explanation to him.

"They don't seem to be having the slightest trouble with translation anymore," Deanna noted.

Beverly sighed. "It would get rather tedious if they did at this point, don't you think? It's more dramatic license, obviously."

Crusher was perhaps finding Deanna's own comments a bit tedious at this point, so Deanna didn't bother sharing her conclusion that _dramatic license_ was apparently a convenient excuse for all sorts of logical inconsistencies.

"You can't mate successfully with her," View Screen Alien said to Tucker. "You're not even the same species."

"Are you kidding me?" Tucker said, and Deanna noted that his Southern accent was suddenly much more pronounced. "Hybrid Vulcan-Humans are the most valuable, most sought-after hybrid species in the universe. When you cross Vulcans and Humans, what you get is always stronger, more beautiful, and more above-average in every way!"

One of the guards said, "I believe it is by definition impossible for all of any group to be above-average."

Tucker said, "_Obviously,_ I'm talking about when you compare them to their parents. Vulcan-Human hybrids are almost always going to be stronger and smarter and have much cuter ears than Humans. _And_ they'll be more creative and more fun at a party than Vulcans."

The aliens blinked. Even T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

Deanna said, "Okay, I know these aliens appear to be really quite…"

"Stupid?" Beverly said. "Yes, I believe that's often the case with the kidnappers in romantic comedies."

"Do you take us for fools?" View Screen Alien snarled at Tucker. "It would obviously require extensive genetic intervention for you to reproduce."

"Well, _duh_," Tucker said. "That's another reason our offspring are so valuable."

"If they are so sought after, why aren't there any among your crew?" View Screen alien said.

"Because they're too valuable to waste on deep space missions," Tucker said. "Someone might decide to capture them and … you know … leverage them!"

"Sir, shall I beam them back to their compartment?" one of the others asked, rather wearily.

Tucker and T'Pol shared quick looks of consternation. The removal of their transponders was about to become obvious, if it wasn't already.

"Let me communicate with our ship," Tucker suggested. "Maybe I can get them to share the genetic sequencing you have to do to get a healthy Vulcan-Human hybrid. Then you could have as many Vulcan-Human hybrids as you want. Hell, you just could let those other guys go – why waste your time with plain old Humans when you can have something that is so superior in every way?"

The three aliens looked at each other. View Screen Guy said, "We are not interested in letting any of you go. But if you can persuade your crewmen to give themselves up to us in a peaceable way, we will reward you with as much warmth, food and clothing as you wish … while we further explore this hybrid scenario you have proposed."

Tucker said, "What about privacy? I'm gonna need lots of privacy with my mate here."

View Screen Alien gave him a pitying look. "We will allow you enough privacy to mate as is required. You will cooperate?"

"I'll talk to them," Tucker said.

"Are you sure that's wise, Commander?" T'Pol said.

"I think it's worth a try," he said, and he and T'Pol were marched down the corridor.

x x x

Deanna and Beverly marched behind them, and squeezed in behind the group as they crowded into a tiny control room. Various mismatched monitors tracked a variety of data, including video feeds from a number of chambers like their own. Most were empty, but not all.

"There's Reed and Sato," Deanna murmured, pointing. If the two were not in fact mating, they were certainly giving an awfully convincing pantomime of it.

"Our tactical and communications officers appear to be … cooperating," T'Pol observed.

Tucker's face flushed quite pink. "You could say that again."

"I could, but there would be little point in doing so," T'Pol said.

"They will be allowed further food and warmth for their cooperation," View Screen Guy pointed out approvingly.

On another monitor, Archer and Mayweather were huddled against each other, their exhaled breaths visible in the cold air.

"It's hardly fair to punish them," Tucker said. "They couldn't 'mate' in the way you mean even if they wanted to. Both females are already taken."

"They will have an opportunity to their turn with the other female. As will you."

"_That_ would _not _be acceptable," T'Pol declared.

"Yeah, believe me," Tucker said, "You'd totally mess up any chance of any valuable Human-Vulcan hybrids if you expected me to do that. And furthermore, if you want me to persuade the rest of our crew to come down here, you'd better be prepared to prove that I won't be condemning them to freezing to death."

"Your species can handle cold quite well," the alien said dismissively.

"Not sustained cold," Tucker said. "We'll get sick, it will spread, some or all of us will die. Heck, some of you might get sick, too. And what would you leverage then?"

T'Pol had been eyeing the other monitors. "Is that why our crew appears to be the only other beings currently in captivity here? Did you perhaps kill off all the others with a poor understanding of their basic requirements for life?"

The three aliens looked uncomfortably at each other. "That is none of your concern," View Screen Guy said brusquely. "You will contact your ship now," he said to Tucker.

"Sure," Tucker said. "Hey, is that a Tellarite communications console?" He gestured at their jury-rigged operations. "Seems to me I see a lot of different technologies represented here."

"We leverage equipment as well as life forms," the alien said, and thumbed a switch. "Enterprise, this is Mendrosa Prime."

"McKenzie here," they heard, and when the MACO major's grim face appeared on the screen, it was obvious that she was not particularly kindly inclined towards the Mendrosans.

"We have found one of your officers," the alien in charge said, and gestured to Tucker to approach him. "He will explain to you why there is no longer any reason to delay the arrival of another landing party."

McKenzie said, "Commander Tucker! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said. "We're all fine, just … being held in a very secure location." He raised his eyebrows rather sardonically.

McKenzie's eyes narrowed. "You are out of uniform, sir."

"Yes, well…" Tucker coughed. "The Mendrosans relieved us of those … but you can easily avoid any trouble with that by just not wearing your uniforms when you come down. Heck, you can leave your shoes at home, too. And then they won't need to stun you in order to get your clothes, off. Right?" he said, turning to View Screen Guy.

View Screen Guy growled low in his throat.

McKenzie said, "Sir?"

View Screen guy flicked off the comm. "Order them to send another landing party."

"We only have two shuttle pods," Tucker said. "That would be the end of it, unless you send one back up."

"Then tell them they should also prepare to be boarded."

"Oh, you don't want to do that," Tucker said. "_Enterprise _has _extremely_ robust counter-measures against unauthorized intruders."

The alien's eyelids flicked. "Your shuttle pod didn't."

Tucker said, "Well, we don't have a warp engine in the shuttle pod to power the disintegrating energy beams, do we? You'd have to get authorized to safely board _Enterprise_."

"Then get us authorized."

Tucker exchanged a look with T'Pol, who said, "That would require the individual members of your boarding party to have a unique identity chip transponder code Enterprise could add to its personnel identification system. Can you provide this?"

"That would be a significant security risk," the alien said. "That is unacceptable. Order your crew to transport down to the surface, then."

"The _whole _crew?" Tucker said.

"Yes, but only six at a time. We will need approximately an hour between each party for proper processing of our new stock."

"I see," Tucker said, glancing at T'Pol. "To these coordinates?"

"No, to the field where you landed. These coordinates are shielded."

"Of course. But aren't you worried that our crew might be a little suspicious about an order like that?"

"Tell them it's for recreation."

"That'll never work," Tucker said. "We only allow shore leave for six crewmen at a time. You'd have to send we six back up to get any more…"

"Order them to make an exception in this case."

"Well, I'll try," Tucker said grudgingly. "But you have no idea how tight-assed MACOs can get about regulations."

"Commander?" McKenzie asked darkly, when the Mendrosans opened the channel again and Tucker explained, without the slightest attempt at guile, what they wanted. "How do we know you aren't being held against your will and forced to say all this?"

"Gosh, I guess you'd just have to take that on faith," Tucker said. "Can I assume the ship is not in any immediate danger?"

"The Mendrosan's weapons – and _tactics" _– she said this with a note of disgust "– are no match for us. Our only concern is the safety of our landing party."

"Well … you can check on all of us … even Travis … if you start beaming down the entire crew for some much-needed shore leave at one hour intervals to allow for the Mendrosans to process new arrivals. Apparently they're a little undermanned down here."

The alien hissed, "Kindly confine yourself to the matter we have discussed."

Deanna turned to Beverly. "What's was that _'even Travis'_ crack about?"

"Probably an allusion to the eventual marriage of Mayweather and McKenzie."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Crusher said, with a smile. "That's one relationship that's extremely well-documented."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot," Tucker said. "There's another thing. Ask Phlox and Baird to send down our top-secret specs on creating Vulcan-Hybrid Humans for fun and profit. Make sure it's a format that _all _the computers down here can read. Something very simple and effective. These guys are using a bunch of different systems cobbled together from different species, so they probably need all the help they can get." He turned to View Screen alien. "That's what you wanted, right?"

The alien's crest had risen threateningly, but he said nothing.

McKenzie said carefully, "It may take us a few minutes to prepare that, sir,"

"Of course," Tucker said to her. "You do that, and get another shuttle pod ready to go in the meantime, and set up a roster for transport. And then, of course, just continue to send down the whole crew at one hour intervals until _Enterprise_ is completely unmanned. That's an order, Major. Do you understand?"

"I believe so, sir," McKenzie said, looking bemused.

The Mendrosans closed the comm. link.

Tucker said, "You're going to feed us now, right? I think you'll agree that I just cooperated like there's no tomorrow."

The alien's crest laid back. "I'm not certain your cooperation was as helpful as we might have hoped."

"Hey, we made a deal," Tucker said. "I can always try again for you, but only if I haven't died of starvation in the meantime."

The alien stared at his two comrades for a moment, and finally flicked a long clawed digit towards the door. "Take them back to their holding chamber and feed them," he said.

"What about that privacy you promised?" Tucker complained.

"You can have your privacy once your crew has arrived."

"Damn. You drive an awfully hard bargain," Tucker said, and glanced at T'Pol, who merely raised an eyebrow.

Deanna huffed. "Oh come on. I wish _all_ hostile aliens were this stupid."

"Me, too," Beverly said. "Then again, more intelligent hostile aliens might have processed them all up into the next month's rations by now, and I don't think that's a story either of us would enjoy."

Deanna supposed she had a point there. "Let's see how they get out of this, then." She shook her head. "You realize that killing off poor Archer's dog doesn't fit this genre at all, don't you?"

"It's not over 'til it's over," Beverly said.

What did that mean? Deanna eyed her friend with suspicion even as the lights dipped once again.

_If anyone else gets eaten in this thing, I'm bailing,_ she decided.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	38. These Are the Voyages Conclusion

**Disclaimers, etc.: **in Part I.

**Author's Note: **So, after over two years and 200,000 words, we're done. It's been a fun ride. I would be remiss not to thank the show's creators and performers for giving us something we could have so much fun playing with, and Chrissie's Transcripts Site and Memory Alpha for making this kind of undertaking much easier than it might have been otherwise. Thank you to those who've read and - most of all, of course - to those generous souls who've reviewed. I may eventually try to take a shot at a worthier finale episode for our heroes, but that probably isn't going to happen anytime soon. So happy reading and writing, and here's to our favorite crew.

* * *

When the lights came up again, Captain Archer was pacing and Mayweather was sitting against the wall and watching his captain pace.

"You're going to wear the floor out, sir," he said.

"That might be the only way we ever get out of here," Archer said, and stopped to stare longingly up at the lights Tucker and T'Pol had climbed. "I hate waiting around."

"At least it's warmer. I wonder who we have to thank for that?"

Suddenly the red lights appeared on the floor in an empty corner of the cell and Reed and Sato materialized – now clad in simple tunics and in the act of chewing bars of some kind.

More lights glowed in the opposite corner and Tucker and T'Pol materialized, still clad in their underwear; Tucker's hand was up and he was saying, "…no, wait!"

He blinked, adjusting the sudden change in locale. "I guess they didn't wait."

"Report," Archer said.

T'Pol said, "Commander Tucker succeeded in communicating with Major McKenzie. It remains to be seen what may result from that, but we learned that _Enterprise_ has thus far been successful in holding off any attempt to board the ship or capture the crew."

"Did you come up with ideas for getting us out of here?"

T'Pol glanced at Tucker. "Possibly."

"Possibly?" Archer said.

"We don't know how open the Mendrosans are to opportunities for profitable hydbridizing," Tucker said loudly. He looked up meaningfully. "They might not be READY for quite that level of success."

Archer grimaced. "They _are _monitoring us?"

"They have the capability," T'Pol said. She hesitated. "Their room from which they monitor and communicate appears somewhat primitive. They also don't appear to actually watch or listen with any great attention. I believe they prefer to rely on their alarm systems." She examined her wrists. "Having discovered that we had removed our transponders, they installed new ones."

Tucker held out his wrist. "In the exact same spot." He rolled his eyes.

"They _may_ believe we are cooperating now," T'Pol said, a touch reprovingly.

"Because…?" Archer said.

"Well, at their request I did order McKenzie to have the entire crew beam down in lots of six … and I told her they might as well come in just their underwear and bare feet, to save time and trouble."

Archer blinked and nodded slowly. "I see."

Tucker smirked at Reed and Sato and said, "So they may not watch their captives very attentively, but it was kind of hard to miss you two on one of their monitors. They were quite pleased with your level of cooperation."

Both Reed and Sato flushed red. "Looked convincing, did it?" Reed said stiffly.

"Very," Tucker said.

"Hey, it brought you some relief from the cold, didn't it?" Sato said. "_And_ we got to eat."

Trip said, "_I'm _the one who got them the relief from the cold."

"You can't know that, Commander," T'Pol said.

Mayweather had been watching Sato and Reed rather hungrily. "Speaking of eating…"

Sato gave him what remained of the bar she'd been chewing. "They're actually better than our own ration-paks," she said.

"Who can say what's in them, though," Reed said, and offered his half-consumed bar to Archer.

"No thanks," Archer said. He turned to Tucker and T'Pol. "Did they feed you?"

"No," Tucker said, so Reed offered him the bar, but Tucker shook his head dismissively. Reed tried T'Pol, then Mayweather, and looked just a trifle disappointed when Mayweather accepted it.

Tucker turned to T'Pol. "We're still in our underwear. _And_ they didn't feed us. Do you think they decided I was full of it?"

"_I _would have," she said.

He was making a face at her when utter darkness fell … and continued to just sit there, darkly.

"This scene transition is way too slow!" Deanna complained.

"That's because it's not a scene transition," Beverly said.

"Trip?" Archer said in the darkness. "Any idea what's going on here?"

"They do say be careful what you ask for," Tucker said. "We suggested McKenzie send a computer file to the Mendrosans."

"And it appears they may have opened it," T'Pol said.

Reed said, "Then any shielding around this place should be down. Why aren't…"

Suddenly six transporter signals lit up the darkness.

"Ta da," Beverly said, and the lights came up on bridge, where the members of the landing party had returned to their usual posts. Captain Archer, dressed in his uniform again, was listening to Major McKenzie's report, "Most of the ships in their fleet also suffered sudden power losses; they appear to functioning on back-up systems."

"And our shuttle pod?" Archer asked.

"It's on its way up now."

Archer smiled. "Excellent work, Major."

"Thank you, sir."

Sato said, "Captain, I'm receiving distress calls from Mendrosan ships."

Archer sighed. "Are you _kidding _me?"

T'Pol said, "They appear to actually be in distress, Captain. I detect only minimal life support."

From the engineering station, Tucker said, "No propulsion either. What was in that file you transmitted, Major?"

McKenzie said, "A sub-routine designed to shut down their systems for a period of about two hours. We didn't expect it would actually take them that long to clean it out, though. We didn't count on getting more than ten minutes. Actually, we were a little surprised when it worked at all."

"I wouldn't underestimate the lack of sophistication of this particular bunch," Tucker said. "They're working off a bunch of scavenged systems strung together."

"Is anyone going to die if we don't do anything?" Archer asked.

Tucker shook his head. "I don't think so. They'll just get a little chilly."

Reed said, "I can live with that."

Archer said, "So can I. Travis, let's get out of here. Hoshi, I want you to prepare a general warning about this species and this region of space. Let's make sure they can't lure anyone else in."

"It's hard to believe any space-faring species could really fall victim to these idiots," Tucker said.

"What does that say about us, then?" Reed said.

"Well, we're back, aren't we?" Tucker said. "And no real harm done."

Archer said grimly, "I'll be in my ready room," and stalked out.

Tucker looked over at T'Pol. "What'd I say?"

"You forgot about Porthos," she said.

"Oh," Tucker said, cringing.

Then he got a thoughtful look on his face.

Deanna turned to Beverly. "_Don't _tell me they have a supply of puppies on this ship."

"Well…" Beverly said, even as the lights dimmed and came up again on the NX-01's tiny sickbay. They watched a humming Dr. Phlox inject something that looked like a white bag with something, then hook it to a nutrient feed in a chamber full of liquid. "Their Dr. Phlox was very unconventional physician. He's actually a rather controversial figure in the history of Starfleet medicine."

"Because?"

"Because he did extensive research into a banned procedure in which creatures called 'mimetic clones' were created from a species of Lyssarrian larva. Originally, this kind of clone could live only a fraction of the original being's life span, but Phlox discovered a way to stabilize them into a near-normal life span."

"But cloning is illegal. Surely it was then, as well."

"Oh, yes, for Humans at least. Phlox was eventually censured pretty heavily by Starfleet Medical for his research, but he simply went back to Denobula and carried on – using animal subjects only, of course. But his papers didn't help with some rather persistent rumors that the real Commander Tucker had died in the Expanse and had been replaced by a mimetic clone."

"Really? Is there any chance that actually happened?"

"No, of course not. Never mind how completely unethical it would be to create a clone of a Human. Commander Tucker lived into his late nineties. Clones are never that robust."

"Late nineties isn't that old."

"It is if you had Commander Tucker's medical history. You wouldn't believe how much damage that man took! Besides, we're talking over 200 years ago. In any case, a clone probably couldn't have made it past sixty or seventy."

The holo-deck had been treating them to a montage of quick scenes of a fetus developing in the chamber. "That's definitely a puppy," Deanna said, pointing. "So does that mean this cloned dog is going to have a rather short lifespan?"

Beverly chuckled. "Does it matter? This holo-fic author obviously knew about the rumors and decided to have some fun with them. It's no more realistic than anything else in this fic."

x x x

The scene shifted to Archer's quarters. The captain was lying on his bed in his sweats, and rather disconsolately throwing his water polo ball up at the ceiling. The door buzzed.

"Come in," he said, and sat up with a sigh.

"There's someone we'd like you to meet, sir," Tucker said, walking in with a small dog in his arms. Dr. Phlox and Commander T'Pol followed him in.

Archer's stare was hard. "What is this?"

Phlox said, "Captain, I know we agreed that there would be no more use of Lyssarrian cloning for _Human _patients. But Porthos is a dog…"

"Porthos is dead," Archer said brusquely. "Are you telling me this is his clone?"

"Yes … a mimetic clone … stabilized to live a near-normal life span," Phlox said.

Tucker put the dog down and he raced up to Archer and put his paws up on his legs.

Archer hesitated, then picked the dog up. It licked his face joyfully.

"He remembers me?" he said.

"Obviously," Phlox said.

"You'll be happy to hear he remembers all his training too," Tucker said. "Though he is a bit younger than Porthos was when we lost him."

"_You_ put the doctor up to this?" Archer said.

Tucker nodded.

Porthos still in his arms, Archer turned his attention to T'Pol. "And you actually agreed to it?"

The Vulcan said, "I did, Captain. _Enterprise_ needs her captain. And her captain needs his dog."

"Well…" Archer said. "Other than a little concern about how I'm going to explain the sudden reappearance of my dog to Starfleet … I guess all I can say is thank you."

"You're welcome," Tucker said, and patted T'Pol's shoulder to signal they should leave.

"Captain," Phlox said, with a large Denobulan smile, and took his leave as well.

Archer sat back down on the bed, petting his beloved beagle and accepting many happy dog kisses in return. "I guess all's well that ends well," he said, and shook his head, smiling.

Deanna was about to open her mouth and comment, but closed it again as the lights dimmed and opened on Ensign Mayweather and Major McKenzie locked in a passionate kiss while they floated in zero-G in an unfamiliar part of the ship. "How are they _doing_ that?" she asked, even as the scene faded to Reed and Sato re-enacting their recent cooperative activities in the comfort of Sato's quarters. The scene then faded to Tucker and T'Pol in her candle-lit cabin, as Tucker leaned forward from his position behind T'Pol to suck the tip of her ear, eliciting a visible shudder of arousal in the pajama-clad Vulcan.

"Oh my," Deanna said, even as the lights dimmed and the holodeck reappeared.

"You'll just have to imagine the rest of _that_," Beverly said.

"Okay, that was kind of sweet. But it was also total nonsense!"

"Of course it was. But so was what you saw with Commander Riker. And I prefer _this _total nonsense to that. Just think of it as an antidote."

"I wonder what these people would think if they could see the way we're playing with them."

"Does it matter? The real people had their own lives and then they died, and we will never really know what went on there. But these versions belong to all of us. They'll never stop having adventures; they'll never stop falling in love with each other. They're immortal in a way real people can never hope to be."

"Speak for yourself," Deanna said tartly. "I plan to live forever."

Beverly chuckled. "Well, good luck with that."

"You never know," Deanna said. "Maybe someday somebody will write a program with _us_ in it."

**THE END**


End file.
